


Wick

by Burning_Up_A_Sun



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gardener, Bedroom Sex, Blow Jobs, Fantasizing, First Time, Flowers, Gardener Harry, Hand Jobs, M/M, Magical Tattoos, Plants, References to Depression, Solicitor Draco, grieving Narcissa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-09 06:21:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 24,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12881997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Up_A_Sun/pseuds/Burning_Up_A_Sun
Summary: Draco Malfoy would do anything to make his mother happy. Including asking Potter for a favor.This is written for the 25 Days of Draco and Harry, hosted atSlythindor100on LJ.  Go check out the fics because they're all great. I hope to write one chapter each day til Christmas.





	1. All I Own I'd Give

**Author's Note:**

> Today's fic is brought to you by this photo prompt: a Hippogriff tattoo.

There were immutable truths in the universe.

The sun would always rise in the east and set in the west. The Chudley Cannons would always suck. And Draco Malfoy would always do anything to make his mother smile.

Which was why he stood in Diagon Alley in a soft drizzle-turned angry freezing rain across from **Lily’s Garden** , steeling himself to cross the street.

All he needed to do was cross the street. Open the door. Walk inside. Ask Potter for a favor. Pay him. And walk out.

 _A favor from Potter._ Draco shivered, and it wasn’t from the ice forming on the inside of his collar, scraping his neck. 

“I can do this. I _can_ do this,” Draco said aloud, pushing the wet fringe out of his eyes. Two passing Wizards gave him a wide berth and dirty looks, and Draco apologized with a weak smile.

Narcissa would be happy, and that’s all that mattered. One foot in front of the other, he thought and crossed the puddled cobblestone street.

~*~

 **Lily’s Garden** was lush and bright inside, despite the gloomy weather outside. Draco stood just inside the doorway, looking for a clerk. Or Potter. Or. A clerk. He unbuttoned his coat and decided that perusing the plants would be better than standing in one spot and waiting.

Draco could only describe the store as colorful chaos that should have been overwhelming but felt energizing instead. Both red and white poinsettias, in foil wrapped pots ready to be gifted. Christmas cacti with their pink blossoms. Out of season plants flowered next to table-top sized fir trees. Amaryllis, with their trumpet-shaped scarlet blossoms, filled a stand near the sales counter. If they were in his price-range, he might bring one to Mother this afternoon when he visited…

“Two galleons? That’s not possible!” Draco said aloud in surprise, reading the price tag on the bottom of the flower pot.

“Too much? I always have problems pricing plants.”

Startled, Draco jostled the plant and dislodged bits of dirt that landed in Draco’s hair.

“Dammit!” Draco handed the pot to where he hoped Harry was standing and scrubbed at his eye. “Dirt in my eye!” He’d probably need a Healer for a scratched cornea and would be red and swollen and—

“Hold on now,” Harry soothed as he gently removed Draco’s fists from his eyes. “Hold still.”

Harry placed his palms on Draco’s face and whispered a spell. Draco felt a pleasant warmth wash over his face, and when he opened his eyes, there was no trace of grit.

“Ok?” Harry asked, and Draco saw his ridiculous face, all earnest and concerned. Those eyes, the color of the four-leaf clovers at Harry’s elbow.

“Fine,” Draco answered, hating how short his voice sounded. He needed a favor and being ugly was no way to accomplish that. “Yes. Thank you.”

Harry grinned, apparently not realizing how rude Draco had just been. “What brings you in today?”

Draco took a deep breath. “Do you—could you—my mother’s garden—Why is asking you for a favor so difficult, Potter?” Tongue-tied wasn’t Draco’s way. He was a solicitor. He spoke to people all day. Potter was no different.

Although his clients generally didn’t wander around in threadbare bib and brace dungarees and a sleeveless white (and he used the term ‘white’ loosely) vest better fit for some muscle-bound weight lifter at an _Anytime Fitness_.

And that tacky hippogriff tattoo on his bicep.

Draco gaped as Harry lifted the heavy Amaryllis stand as if were featherlight. The tattoo moved, shifted, flexed its wings as Harry shifted the display a foot to the right. 

Draco did not squeak. 

“Now that I’m sure the plant won’t try to maim you again,” Harry said, and Draco was almost certain Harry was laughing at him. At least smirking. “Let’s talk about that favor you need.”

Draco gritted his teeth and turned to leave. He Did. Not. Need. This. Then he thought about Mother in her dying garden, caring for the plants. Talking to them, begging them to get well. 

With his back to Harry, Draco blurted, “Mother loves her garden, and it’s dying. I’ve tried everything I know—”

“You want me to check it out?”

Draco nodded in the silence. Just as he thought—it was stupid, thinking Potter would help. He buttoned his coat and stepped toward the door. He could just go up to Hogwarts and talk to Professor Sprout or maybe ask Pansy to use the internet thing she was always on about.

“Don’t leave without me,” Potter said. “Just let me close up the shop.”

Draco turned around, staring at Potter in disbelief. There had to be some trick, something Potter wanted in return. It couldn’t be that easy.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Harry laughed. He zipped his jacket and grabbed a potted plant. “I mean, this is what I do. And even if it wasn’t, I owe your mum a life debt and helping with her garden doesn’t even make a dent in it.”

“But—customers…” Draco stammered, trying to figure out Potter’s angle. There had to be an angle; this was going to cost him dearly, either in galleons or embarrassment.

“Do you see any? Anyway, it’s my store. I can do what I want.” Harry waved his empty hand toward the plans. 

Draco couldn’t argue that. The place was empty. “Do a booming business, do you?” Draco said, one eyebrow raised.

Potter laughed. _Laughed._ “I do alright. Besides. It’s a labor of love.”

Love. 

Right. 

_Lily’s_ Garden.

“Where is she?” 

Harry looked confused. “Your mother? I’m assuming at the Manor? Are we Flooing or apparating?” 

Draco shook his head in frustration. Potter was just as dense as he’d ever been. And given how dreadfully Potter had done in Potions, Draco had no idea how he could make a living as a gardener.

“Apparate. We could side-along if you prefer.” Draco offered his elbow, but Harry waved him off. 

“I think I remember the address.” 

There it was again, the not quite a smirk but not quite a smile. 

With a crack, Potter and his stupid plant was gone. Draco glared. He should have known Potter would have the manners of a hippogriff.

Which did not remind him of Harry’s bicep. 

At all.


	2. How an English Garden Grows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Potter fixes things. Draco's a berk. A big, fat berk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brought to you today by this early-bird promt: 
> 
> if it seems like something's gone unanswered, It's all part of the big picture (air quotes)

“Paperwhites! Thank you, Mr. Potter!”

Draco apparated into the Manor’s dying garden in time to see Mother accepting the plant from Potter. She looked drawn and much too thin dressed in black, but her smile seemed genuine as she led him to one of the stone benches. It was the first real smile that Draco’d seen from her in months.

Of course it would be _Potter_ who’d made her smile like that. But that didn’t matter. Draco felt the muscles in his neck tighten, knew he was grinding his teeth. What mattered was that Mother was distracted from her melancholia, not that Potter had done it with one stupid flower when Draco couldn’t for all the months he’d tried. 

He stepped toward the garden and in the next minute was lying on the damp, icy ground staring up at the gray clouds. 

_Fucking ice,_ Draco cursed as he took mental inventory of his bones, none of which felt broken. His pride and his tailored suit took the worst of the fall. He closed his eyes and wondered for the first time since he was 11 if it were possible to die of embarrassment.

“Malfoy, watch out for the--”

Short stabs tried to tear his thigh while a dozen razor blades shredded his trousers or possibly his leg. 

“--peacock.”

The final vestige of Father at the Manor, the goddam albino peacocks. Draco had no idea why Mother kept them, but he wouldn’t attempt to vanish them again. She’d been so angry that her Magic had crackled in the air between them.

“Hey, you okay?”

Potter crouched next to Draco, healing the slices to his thigh and mending the trousers.

_Yes. It was possible to die of mortification._

“Want to try to stand?”

Harry fit one hand into Draco’s and used his other to brace Draco’s elbow. Instead of pulling Draco to his feet, he waited. Draco couldn’t figure out why Potter wasn’t helping him up. He was certainly strong enough, and his hand, warm and firm in Draco’s, was solid, if calloused. 

And to Draco’s manicured, overly-moisturized hand, the roughness of Potter’s felt reassuring, safe. Callouses meant someone not afraid of hard work, who’d face a challenge and do what it took to make it succeed. And in the midst of pandemonium, he could be calm and in charge.

“I can get up by myself,” Draco grumbled, but allowed Harry to help him. Otherwise, he might slip again and be attacked once more by the vile, rabid, savage creatures.

“Does this happen a lot to you?” Harry asked, watching Draco frown as he examined his trousers. 

“Being assaulted by these—these—” Draco pointed at the peacocks, whose squawks sounded like maniacal laughter. 

“I meant you needing to be healed.” 

Draco remembered Potter’s soft hands on his cheeks as he cleaned Draco’s eye of dirt. The soothing buzz of his Magic as he re-grew skin on Draco’s thigh. Potter smiled at him, but Draco suspected he was fishing for a payment of some sort. He was paying Potter to help with the garden and nothing more. 

“At least you’re better at dirt than at tailoring,” Draco smirked, pointing at his trousers. “Hopefully these Frankenstein mends can be re-stitched into something that looks more like a solicitor would wear and less like a—a gardener.”

Harry shook his head and walked over to where Narcissa knelt on the ground, trying to coax a poinsettia back to life. He didn’t look back at Draco.

_Well, fuck._ He was going to have to apologize to Potter. If Potter could just keep his mouth shut, Draco wouldn’t be forced into responding. 

Carefully, he tiptoed across the grass to where his mother worked in silence. “The garden has always been the most vibrant, alive part of the Manor,” Draco said, careful not to speak directly to Harry. “Even in the winter, Mother could grow tropical plants outdoors.”

“One of my nurses was from Jamaica. She taught me some native herbology spells. They’ve always worked.” Narcissa swept her hand across the garden. “Not any longer.”

The white poinsettia leaves still on the plant were frozen and barely hanging on; most were on the ground, shriveled and dead. The large hydrangea bushes that he’d hidden in as a child were bare when they should have been ariot with fragrant, white snowballs of flowers. Even the seasonal boxwood shrubs that edged the garden were mostly twigs. 

Harry helped Narcissa as she struggled to stand. She sat on a bench and hid her face in a handkerchief. Draco heard a sob escape from behind the cloth.

Draco was immobilized by his mother’s grief. He watched Potter kneel and whisper to her. She nodded, and he patted her hand. When she was back under control, Potter stood up and smiled at her before walking into the heart of the garden.

Draco sat on his mother’s bench, slid closer to her and took her hand. Together they watched Potter examine each plant, heard him apologize to each plant before he broke off a small limb. 

After an hour, Draco’s warming spell wore off, and he suspected his mother had never even cast one on herself. He escorted her into the Manor and suggested she sit in Father’s chair in front of the fireplace. Before he could ask, Whimsy the house elf had the tea serving set up, including Mother’s favorite biscuits. 

She stirred her tea, but didn’t drink any. Draco watched and worried. “I’m sure Potter will figure out what is wrong with your garden, Mother.”

Narcissa looked up at Draco for the first time since she entered the house. “How do you know he can fix my garden.” Her voice was small and defeated.

“He’s good at what he does. I’ve heard from clients, but I’ve also spoken to him at length about this.” Draco left out the part about standing at pub tables and listening to Potter prattle on about begonias, and belladonna, and thistle, as if everyone didn’t know that thistles were weeds and not worth anyone’s time. 

With a small knock, Potter barged into the quiet living room. He was grinning and rubbing his hands over his jacket sleeves, trying to get warm. “I was so involved in talking to the plants, I forgot to recast the warmth charm.”

Potter scraped a chair across the floor to Narcissa’s, and Draco could almost forgive him that dreadful breach of etiquette because of the smile on Mother’s face.

“They were just under-nourished,” Harry told Narcissa. He seemed as overjoyed as she was. His cheeks were ruddy from the cool afternoon, and his ill-kempt hair was more wild than usual. Draco thought Potter looked alright. Nothing like Draco’s type of course, but he was a 21st Century man. He could say when a bloke looked handsome enough. 

“Alright, then?” Harry asked. Apparently, he’d asked a question that Draco hadn’t heard, but now was expected to answer. 

Draco stood to see Potter out. 

“You weren’t listening, were you?” Potter grinned again. He grinned a lot. His stupid, grinning face.

“Blah blah, plants, blah blah.” Draco waved his hand as if to say it hadn’t been worth his time to listen. 

“I fed the plants with my special formula. I’ll come back tomorrow afternoon to check on them.” Harry toyed with his gloves instead of putting them on. “I was heading back to the store to close up for the night. Gonna stop at the _Moth & Thistle_ for a pint after. Would you want to—”

Harry looked up at Draco. The fairy lights from the tree reflected in Harry’s glasses, looking like a twinkle in his eyes. He smiled, but something gentle and almost nervous. 

“No. I’ll be working late tonight on, ah, important legal documents,” Draco said, holding the front door open. Feeling trapped, he turned to look back toward his mother. She’d laid her head against the side of the wingback and had fallen asleep. “And, um, er, Mother.”

“Yeah, sure. Maybe some other time.” Harry pulled a wadded scarf out of his jacket pocket and wrapped it around his neck. He smiled at Draco as he walked down the front stairs. 

Draco watched him apparate, a tight spin and then Potter was gone. 

Maybe he’d eat dinner with Mother tonight, he thought with a sigh, still staring out the door. It was that or return to his empty flat with bare cupboards.


	3. Is It Always So Ugly Here?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco bursts into **Lily's Garden**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brought to you today by this Early Bird prompt: 
> 
> Yesterday I had a fic that needed only about "20 more minutes" to clean up to submit to the mini holiday fest on LJ. 20 minutes turned into all day, but when you read it, I hope you'll agree it's a better fic for the time. 
> 
> My goal is to write and post ch4 today, also.

“You killed my mother’s garden.” 

Draco slammed open the door of **Lily’s Garden** , narrowly missing a wrought-iron teacart filled with violets. “Potter, you coward. You killed my mother’s garden, now be a man about it and show yourself.”

_Be a man about it and show yourself? _Draco winced at his words, that sounded right in his head and way too overly dramatic once he said them. This wasn’t some terrible Muggle western film.__

__“Perhaps, dear, you could close your mouth and open your eyes.” A frail, old woman sat on a barstool at the service counter. Draco judged her to be two heartbeats away from death, and literally had no idea how she had found the strength to climb onto the stool. She raised her trembling hand and pointed behind the counter._ _

__Harry snorted, then turned away to hide his laughter._ _

__“This is not a laughing matter, Potter. Mother’s garden—"_ _

__“Is dead. Yes, dear. You’ve already said. Care for some tea? It might help your mood.” The old biddy nodded at a teacup perched on a mismatched saucer. “Well, come on. It won’t bite. I took that spell off it already.”_ _

__Draco hesitated. For someone with one foot in the grave, this old lady was pretty fucking salty. And he was goddamned sure he heard Potter laugh again._ _

__And why were things with Potter never what they should be? Instead of kissing his ass and apologizing for destroying something precious, Potter was letting some old witch rip him a new one._ _

__Draco unbuttoned his overcoat and hung it onto a rack next to a dirt stained hoodie that he supposed was Potter’s. He eyed the empty stool warily, weighing whether the woman had enough strength to pull it out from under him if he tried to sit._ _

__“It won’t hurt you, either,” she said, pulling the stool away from the counter with the tip of her shoe. “I removed the biting spell from that, too.”_ _

__Draco sat cautiously. Had almost lowered himself completely onto the cushion, when she said, “At least, I think I did.”_ _

__Draco hopped off and pushed the stool away. Far away._ _

__“Midge, cut it out.” Harry sounded stern, but Draco saw the crinkles at the corner of his eyes. He was trying not to laugh. “Draco Malfoy, this is Margaret Nibley. She’s incorrigible.”_ _

__“My friends call me Midge.” She raised an eyebrow and stared pointedly at Draco, looking him up and down. “You can call me Margaret.”_ _

__Harry laughed as he poured tea and slid the cup toward Draco. “Midge is a nice lady—” He ignored Midge’s snort of indignation at his characterization, “—who likes to tease people. Please sit.”_ _

__“Thank you for the tea.” Draco dragged his stool back toward the counter but left plenty of room between him and Midge. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Nibley.”_ _

__She didn’t answer, just drank her tea and watched Draco._ _

__“What happened with your mother’s garden?” Harry said, rinsing his cup at the small sink behind the counter._ _

__Draco added cream to his tea and stirred it twice. “I was eating my breakfast, when I heard her wail from her bedroom.”_ _

__Midge nodded, overly-seriously. “Wailed, you say? Not a shriek, or a scream?”_ _

__Harry glared at her in warning, and Midge went back to her tea. “What does the garden look like?”_ _

__“Dead, Potter. It’s dead.” Draco threw his hands up in frustration. “As in, nothing is alive except the Mexican Hand tree with those creepy flowers that look like fingers.”_ _

__“Did you break off a plant stem to see if it’s green inside?” Harry asked._ _

__“I heard my mother wail—” Draco stared at Midge, daring her to contradict him again, “--went to see why she was crying and came right here.”_ _

__“It can’t be, though. I ran tests with my wand. I even brought a sample back and tested it the Muggle way. It was low in some nutrients, but no way it killed everything overnight.” Potter rubbed his chin as he thought. “Did you, by chance—”_ _

__“No, I didn’t muck with the garden.” Draco pushed aside his tea cup and stood. “Are you coming to fix it or what?” He made his voice sound heavy with hidden meaning; it was his Solicitor Voice. He wanted Harry to believe he was at risk for being sued._ _

__Draco was afraid Potter wouldn’t come, the garden would be dead, and Narcissa would wail and sigh and drift aimlessly around the manor like a ghost._ _

__“Whatever your mum needs,” Harry said, untying the stained apron he wore over his overalls. The pockets were shoved full of gloves and frightening scissors and—were those Sugar Quills?_ _

__“This is a terrible business model, Potter,” Draco admonished as Potter grabbed the stained hoodie. “When customers come during business hours and—”_ _

__“Do you want his help or not?” Midge asked, struggling to hop down from the stool._ _

__Draco stopped mid-sentence, his mouth open. Fucking salty._ _

__“Go on, Harry,” Midge smiled at Potter and patted his cheek. Draco was shocked she could reach up that high. “I’ll mind the store so it’s not a _terrible business model_ in case customers come in.”_ _

__“You sure? I can just lock up—”_ _

__She stared at Draco, and he took a step back in mistrust. Seriously, how could someone maybe two feet tall feel like seven feet of danger? “If his mother is upset enough to wail about her garden,” Midge said, accentuating _wail_ with air quotes, “she clearly loves it. And nothing is stronger than a mother’s love for her baby, whether it’s a garden or a—lawyer.”_ _

__Draco had never heard the word sound so filthy._ _

__“How did you know—” he sputtered._ _

__“I’ve spoken to one or two in my life.” Midge, who seemed less shrunken when she stood, hobbled behind the counter. “Possibly more.”_ _

__This time Draco snorted. “Too many to count?”_ _

__Midge’s laughter followed them out the door onto Diagon Alley._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wondering what the Mexican Hand Tree looks like? 


	4. I'm Lost Without You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's worried about Narcissa.
> 
> TW: DEPRESSION, COPING WITH THE DEATH OF A SPOUSE
> 
> If you are affected by the triggers, please skip down to the comments, and leave me a note, and I'll summarize the chapter for you. xoxo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is brought to you by the Early Bird Prompt: 

The garden was a pitiful tangle of dead vines and plants that had given up hope to lie flat against the cold, frosted ground. 

And that wasn’t right at all. 

On an icy winter day, Draco should be able to sit among the poinsettias. Take off his coat and jumper. Roll up his sleeves and soak in the warmth. He’d done that as a toddler. He’d done it last week as a 30-year-old. 

But this was wrong. The ground was covered in a layer of frost. The leaves glazed with white crystals. Draco imagined the plants shivering, begging him to help them.

It looked worse than it had before he’d approached Potter. 

They’d apparated directly to the garden. Narcissa sat on the bench, staring at the plants. 

“Mrs. Narcissa, Whimsy is asking you to come inside.” The house elf had Narcissa’s hand in her and was patting it, trying to get her attention. “You is being cold, and Whimsy promised to be caring for you.” Whimsy tried to pull her upright, but Narcissa wouldn’t move.

Since Potter was already lying on the ground examining the plants, Draco decided helping Mother was more important than needling Potter. He crouched down next to the bench. “Mother?” 

Narcissa turned to Draco, but he felt like she was looking through him, seeing something only visible to herself.

“Mother, I’m going to take you inside now,” Draco said, helping her stand. “I’m sure Pott—Harry will find out what is going on. In the meantime, we’re going to get you into some warm clothing. Have you eaten today?”

Whimsy shook her head. “Whimsy will be making some of Mrs. Narcissa’s favorite soup.” With a crack, she was gone. 

Draco wrapped his arm around his mother’s waist and, slowly over the slick grass, led her into the Manor, through the French doors in Father’s study. 

They passed through the study, kicking up dust that had settled on the carpet in the year of disuse. It lined the shelves and coated the top of the leather couch. Draco had a crazy impulse to write his name in the dust, as if that might make him more permanent.

“Everything is dead,” Mother said as they entered her sitting room. “Father. The garden. What will be next.”

“Not you, Mother,” Draco said in what he hoped was his most upbeat, positive voice. He just couldn’t lose her, too. He felt frantic, out of his depth with no idea how to handle this. 

Plus, her hands were like ice and her lips were blue tinged. With Whimsy cooking, Draco had no choice but to help Mother change clothing.

He led her into her bedroom and sat his mother at the edge of her bed. Draco knelt and unlaced her high-button boots, massaging each foot as it came out of the boot. They were as cold as her hands. He transfigured a pair of stockings into woolen socks and slid those on her feet.

He examined her robes and decided that none of them would be warm enough. Hoping she would forgive him for this abomination, he then transfigured a second pair of stockings into trousers. Finally, he created a woolen jumper from a dressing gown. 

With as much dignity as he could offer her, Draco unzipped her dress robe. He kept up a steady stream of light chatter, telling her about Potter and what a terrible businessman he was. Narcissa allowed him to remove both the robe and her ankle length slip. She was pliant, moving when he asked, but not speaking. 

When she was dressed in the warm clothing, Draco led her to her favorite chair in front of the sitting room’s fireplace. He felt foolish and manic talking about Midge and **Lily’s Garden** when his mother was distraught. 

Tomorrow he would call a mind Healer. Somehow, it had escaped him that she was depressed. 

After Father’s passing in January, Draco had moved back to the Manor. He wanted to be there for her. Together, he and Mother had decorated the East Wing, turning it into a flat for him. He had his own wards so his friends could come and go with privacy. In turn, they shared dinner each evening in his dining room and talked about their days. As Mother grieved, she seemed to appreciate his presence. 

By the spring, she had resumed her weekly ladies luncheon and her volunteer work. And Draco had allowed his job to consume him, working well into the night. 

And when he’d Floo home, a dinner plate waited for him, still warm under a stasis charm. He’d curse his boorishness and swear that the next night, he would leave work at 5 so he could spend time with Mother. Without fail, the next night he worked well into the night. And found a plate waiting for him. 

He’d missed her slipping into depression, becoming as fragile as the plants in her garden. She was all he had now. She and that cursed garden were most important. 

And if that meant policing Potter as he did his work, making sure he didn’t miss any little thing, then that was what he would do. He shuddered at the thought of working side by side with Potter in his stupid overalls with that tacky tattoo. And could he possibly wear a shirt with sleeves, maybe just once? 

It was a sacrifice he’d make for his mother.


	5. I Heard Someone Crying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hard to always be the strong one
> 
> POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNING: major character crying from stress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by this early bird prompt: 
> 
> I'm sorry this chapter is short. We had some family issues today.

“How is it going?” 

Draco surprised Potter, who pulled his head up so quickly that he jostled the dead leaves on the holly bush. Frozen, sharp petals and shriveled red berries slid down Potter’s neck and into his hoodie. He scrabbled to his feet, waggling his jacket, in what Draco assumed was an effort to get the petals out. 

Potter looked ridiculous, yowling from the wet cold on his warm skin and hopping around.

Draco laughed. 

He laughed until he was bent over, arms wrapped around his waist to stop from hurting. Laughed until he couldn’t speak. 

“Malfoy, you okay?” Potter asked, laughing at how hard Draco was laughing. 

Draco nodded. “I’m—” and then he wasn’t. 

He wept. For his father, who had been a bastard but had loved Draco unconditionally as a child. For his mother, who loved him still. And Merlin love him, he cried for the stupid garden that was dead.

Draco gasped, unable to catch a breath. He covered his eyes, as much to hide from Harry as to try to stop the tears.

He felt strong hands on his arms, encouraging him to stand. “Shhh. You’re alright, now. You’re alright.”

Once he was upright, he could breathe easier. Arms embraced him and pulled him in gently. 

“If you want to be alone, let me know,” Potter said, his voice too loud in the silence. “I thought you might need a hug.”

Draco didn’t have the energy to snark a “not from you.” For one moment, he needed a break from his feelings, and Potter was here.

Draco dropped his forehead to Potter’s shoulder and matched his breathing to Potter’s. Slow in, slow out, until he could breathe without shuddering. Until he could think about his mother without feeling helpless. 

As his breathing slowed, Draco became more aware of Potter holding him, his arms strong but gentle. Draco turned into Potter’s neck and inhaled. He smelled like cold fresh air and cedarwood. The whiskers he missed when he’d shaved that morning tickled Draco’s cheek.   
Potter released Draco and stepped back. “Better?”

Draco nodded and realized he meant it. He was exhausted from sobbing, like he could sleep til tomorrow. But he also felt lighter, clearer-headed than he had in weeks. 

The hug helped more than he wanted to admit. To Draco, Potter had felt safe. While Potter held him he’d also protected Draco. For those moments, Potter had been in control and had allowed Draco to fall apart. Since Father died, Draco had never been granted that luxury. 

The safety that allowed him to fall apart also allowed him to put himself back together when it was time. 

And that was unexpected. 

Draco had wanted someone to take care of the garden. He was surprised to find he needed someone who might also take care of him.


	6. He Mun Not Fright Thee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry thinks Draco needs a drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yesterday's chapter brought to you buy: 
> 
> My apologies again. Life happens.

“I know what you need,” Harry said and wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist. 

Embarrassment flooding him. Crying in front of Potter was one thing, but had he said that shit out loud? About feeling safe? Oh, God—had he actually _said_ that Potter smelled good? He grimaced, his body tensing in mortification.

Harry smiled at him, warm and kind. “Something to drink will help. Don’t worry—I’ve done side-along apparition lots of times.”

Draco was confused, but that was normal for being with Potter. Apparition what? Where were they—

Before Draco could finish his thought, he felt the familiar, uncomfortable pull in his belly and the Manor disappeared. 

~*~

He stumbled as he landed, and Harry held him steady. 

“Potter, you can’t just kidnap people—” Draco sputtered, feeling off balanced. 

Being with Potter was the antithesis of Draco’s entire life. The biggest surprise Draco faced each day was the possibility of leaving the office in time to catch the late news on Muggle tv. Not being whirled away to Merlin knows where. Off-balanced was the least of it. 

It was unnerving and terrifying. 

And the tiniest bit exciting. 

“I didn’t kidnap you. I thought you needed a drink. Instead of going to a shop at lunch time, I though you could use some privacy.” Harry laughed at him. With him. Draco didn’t know anything anymore. But the laugh sounded warm and rich. 

Draco looked around. This was someone’s flat, someone’s home. Comfortable couches around the fireplace, with thick blankets that looked like they would be cozy. 

And, good Lord! Every flat surface was covered in potted plants. The mantle. Every shelf and even on top of books. There was a small, empty spot on the coffee table that Draco thought was the perfect size for a glass or maybe even to put your feet up on.

“No comeback?” Harry asked as Draco looked around. 

Harry pursed his lips and looked down his nose. “Potter, I’m certain you can not boil water without scorching it.”

 _What?_

“Honestly, Pot-ter. _PG Tips?_ I couldn’t posssssibly drink something soooo pedestrian.” Harry dragged out the syllables, attempting to sound ridiculously posh.

Draco stared at Potter, who had clearly lost his mind. “What are you—”

Potter snickered.

“Hold on. Is that supposed to be me?” Draco asked, incredulously. “I don’t sound _anything_ like that.” 

Potter cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Be a man and show yourself!”

 _Oh. My. God._ Draco couldn’t believe that he’d said that to start with. That Potter had chosen _that_. The worst part was that he couldn’t even defend it. It _was_ ridiculous. 

“Well.” Draco raised his chin and tried not to sound like Potter’s version of him. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Potter laughed, and Draco smiled. He liked the way it echoed in the flat, not cavernous and cold, but warm and comfortable like, like couches in front of a fireplace or chunky blankets. He felt like Potter's laughter was a gift. For a moment, Draco felt a small flutter of excitement in his chest. Maybe asking him to help with Mother's garden wasn't the clusterfuck it seemed to be. 

Potter headed out of the lounge. “I’m going to change into something more comfortable,” Potter said, already unzipping his hoodie.

Draco startled; that's what Muggles always said in those black and white movies he watched on his telly--right before they reappeared half naked in some slinky lingerie. Draco's heart skipped a few beats, imagining Potter half naked. 

“Since I’m sure I’d burn the water, you should start tea. And there’s a plate of mincemeat pies if you want to heat them up.” 

The plate sat on the kitchen counter (surrounded by plants, of course). Draco picked up a pie and sniffed it. It smelled of cloves and cinnamon and childhood. Mince pies were his guilty pleasure because of the memories it evoked. 

He’d just eat one cold right now, and Potter would never know. Draco opened his mouth for the first bite—

“Yeah, Midge made them. Gave them to me this morning,” Potter called from his bedroom up the hall. 

Draco lowered the pie back to the plate, stepped away slowly, and felt like he’d just dodged a bullet.


	7. Why Did You Have to Want Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Potter takes Draco for a drink, and Draco learns his type. *language, sexual fantasy*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7 is brought to you by Harry's thigh tattoo: 
> 
> Don't forget all of the other amazing fics posted for the 25 days of Harry and Draco on [Slythindor100 at LiveJournal](https://slythindor100.livejournal.com/)

Draco gave the pies a wide berth and started the kettle on the hob. He waited impatiently for it to boil, drumming his fingers as he considered the truth to “a watched kettle never boils.” With no sign of Potter, Draco decided to nose around in whatever wasn’t a plant.

The kitchen drawers were a mess. Spoons were jumbled in with the forks, dish towels were rolled and stuffed rather than tri-folded and neatly stacked. This was barbarity. Humans weren’t meant to live like this, with their glassware stuck inside coffee mugs. 

And the table for the post was a shamble. There were unopened letters from—Draco checked the dates—over a week ago. He shook his head in dismay. That was no way to run a business. Owl nuts were everywhere _except_ in the bowl. Something suspicious stained one corner of the table. He was not going to investigate that any further. Not surprisingly for this flat, a plant basked in the sun on the windowsill; with its delicate white flowers and tall, slim stems, it looked like the one Potter had given Mother. 

The kettle whistled, and Draco turned the burner to simmer until he could find tea. He searched every cabinet, until he gave in and bent down to check under the sink with the detergents. 

“Try the freezer.”

Draco stood up quickly and turned to Potter, who seemed flustered and embarrassed as if he’d been caught out. But the flush on his skin was likely from the shower he’d taken. All over his skin, Draco couldn’t help but notice because Potter wore another of his sleeveless vests, this one bright white as if it were just from the package. And mesh gym shorts that were a size too small. If he stared, Draco could almost make out the faded Gryffindor logo at the hem. 

Not that he was staring. 

Potter’s thighs were thick, stretching the legs of the shorts. A tattooed phoenix stirred from under the mesh, swirled down Potter’s leg and rested on his calf. Draco told himself he was admiring the tat’s exceptional artwork, but knew it was really the defined muscles that shifted as Potter walked. 

For a moment, Draco was flooded with heart-racing images of Potter, naked and powerful, lifting Draco, pushing him against a wall, fucking him—

Oh, he was definitely staring. 

Draco was flushed and breathing too hard to hide. This made no sense, because Potter was a berk and a bellend and not attractive and not Draco’s type. And he wasn’t Potter’s type, whatever that might be. Then he realized he had no idea _what_ Potter’s type was.  
To save himself, Draco turned away and headed to the fridge. “Who keeps their tea frozen?” he scoffed, his voice an octave higher than he’d expected. The air from the freezer felt good against his face, and he desperately hoped it would counteract his blushing. 

“I didn’t say frozen,” Potter said, reaching around Draco, crowding him against the stainless steel. He felt something pressed against his ass, and he heard Potter sigh, but it was probably because of the cool air on their faces. 

And Merlin, his brain kept telling him that was Potter’s cock against him and adding more frames from its video before. He wanted to shut it down, but his dick has different ideas. It wanted to see every single minute of whatever his brain wanted to show him. 

“It’s better for the tea if it’s in the cold,” he said. “I keep it too hot in here, and my tea was getting moldy.” Potter brought a porcelain jar from the freezer and moved away, leaving Draco feeling cold and alone. 

At the other side of the fridge, Potter stood on his toes and shifted at least a dozen cereal boxes to reach the hidden teapot. Draco stole a glance at Potter’s shorts. The tent in front of his shorts was obvious. 

Draco felt breathless; maybe he _was_ Potter’s type. 

And he had no idea what to do with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, believe it or not, if you live in a super humid place, it's best to keep your tea in the freezer because it will stop it from getting moldy.


	8. It's a Maze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco tries to rationalize Harry's shorts and everything. But he can't

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by this early bird prompt: 
> 
> If this sounds wonky, i'll clean it tomorrow morning. I just wanted to get it on ao3 tonight.

Draco turned his back to Potter and his shorts—it was just so much safer that way—and busied himself clearing a space at the table. Overgrown plants, bags of potting soil, a bottle of something called _Magic-Gro_. How did Potter live like this, in this hothouse? It had to be at least 26 degrees, maybe more. 

Draco had taken off his overcoat earlier, but with a shirt and jumper, it felt was like wearing full winter gear in mid-July. He slid the jumper over his head and off, then folded it carefully the way Mother had taught him. 

It had to be the temperature and not the way Potter looked at him that had him overheated. 

He hadn’t imagined it, the way Potter boxed him in, left no room for him to move—and Draco hadn’t felt anything except _want_. 

Potter peered over the plants on the breakfast bar. His eyes were bright in the sunlight, as green as any of the plants’ leaves; Draco couldn’t breathe with the way Potter’s eyes smiled at him. “Alright over there, Malfoy?” 

“Yeah, fine.” Draco’s voice cracked, in a way that reminded him of puberty, when he was hormones and very little else. He pulled at the collar of his cotton button-down. It absolutely was too hot in Potter’s flat.

Harry carried the tea tray; unlike the set from his store, this one was beautiful and, unless Draco was wrong, likely Wedgewood from the 1800s.

“Potter, this service is exquisite. How do _you_ own it?” 

Potter laughed and handed Draco the tea tray while he moved more plants to the breakfast bar.

“After the war, Hermione and I went back to Godric’s Hollow to what was left of my parents’ house. She created a spell to find anything my parents hid, and fixed it so it knew I was a Potter. We found this, and we think, because my parents were so careful with it, it must’ve been in my family a long time.”

That was the most personal thing Potter had ever said to him. Suddenly, Draco wanted to know everything. What the wreckage looked like. How had Potter felt when he first saw it. Had he cried? Would he like to rebuild it and live there one day with his wife and children. Or his husband…

Potter took the tray and set it on the marginally clean kitchen table. Even “marginally clean” was generous. As Potter poured out the tea, Draco decided to ask. “Potter—” 

Potter looked him, his face open and welcoming Draco’s sentence.

Draco couldn’t. The questions were too presumptuous. They assumed a degree of intimacy he did not have with Potter. It wasn’t his business. 

“Hmm?” Potter asked, waiting for Draco to finish.

Draco scrambled for something to say. A dusty biscuit tin rested on the tea tray. He picked it up and shook it. “Did this belong to them, too?” 

Potter’s deep, rumbly belly laugh echoed in the flat. “You’re really funny, Malfoy. I don’t remember you being this funny at school.”

Draco had the grace to hide his eyes at what felt almost like an accusation. “I wasn’t. I was a privileged ass, and I treated everyone shit.” When Draco looked up, Potter was hiding behind his cup of tea. Draco took a deep breath and said, “I truly am sorry. Thank you for forgiving me and for helping with Mother’s garden.” He felt the weight of guilt leave him, for the way he’d behaved as a child and 

“Don’t thank me yet,” Potter said, putting his tea cup down on the saucer. “It seems dead, but something’s not right. I want to test the soil again before we go back.”

“Speaking of not right.” Draco unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and rolled them up exactly twice. “Why is your flat so hot.”

Potter opened the dusty tin, which held perfectly fine and relatively new biscuits. He spent more time than Draco thought necessary opening the plastic wrapped. “When I lived with the Muggles before Hogwarts, they treated me pretty bad. I was always cold. I didn’t have anything warm, but then, they’d show me their new winter clothes.”

Harry avoided Draco’s attempt at eye contact. “Anyway. I promised myself I wouldn’t be cold again. And I look like a nutter, wearing shorts and a sleeveless vest in December, but I bet you wish you could, too.”

“You don’t look like a nutter at all,” Draco said with a shy smile. “It is ungodly hot in here.”

“It’s also good for the plants,” Potter said, pressing a finger into one of the flower pots to check the moisture level. 

“Back at school, everyone knew you were going to be an Auror—” Draco left the sentence hanging

“You know the nice thing about plants?” Potter asked, plucking dead leaves off the plants on the table to avoid Draco’s statement. “They don’t care if you killed anyone. They don’t care if you killed a dark lord and everyone called you the savior of the Wizarding world. They don’t want a piece of you, or to take pictures while you sleep and sell them to newspapers. And they don’t give a fuck if you’re gay.”  
“I didn’t know—I’m so sorry.” Draco laid his palm on top of Potter’s hand and left it there. “I guess I missed a lot when I was studying in France.”

“What? That I’m gay?” Harry’s voice rose, and his words were curt. 

“No, I don’t care about that.” Draco waved him off and sipped as his tea. “That someone was low enough to sell pictures of you sleeping. I mean, at your best, you’re scruffy and unkempt. I can’t imagine what you look like when you’re asleep.”

Harry laughed again, and Draco swallowed hard, because he could exactly imagine. Harry’s face would be soft and without worry lines. His mouth would be slack, and his hair? It would look as ridiculous as always. And Draco wanted to run his fingers through the dark curls and see what he could do with that mop. Harry would look beautiful asleep.

_Harry? When did he begin referring to Potter as Harry?_

“Do you think I could call you Harry?” Draco asked, staring at their hands together. “Potter just makes me want to make gardening jokes. And that would be so unoriginal. Are you Pottering around in the garden? Did you Pot-ter some new plants?” 

Harry groaned and shook his head. “If it will stop the bad puns, yes. Draco.”

His name sounded beautiful coming from Harry. “Thank you, Harry.”

Draco reached for a biscuit. He was contemplating how fresh it might be, when a snowy owl appeared at Pot—Harry’s window. 

Draco’s owl. 

Hopefully, Whimsy was sending good news of Mother.


	9. Isn't It Clear What I Want?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sass. All of it.   
> Brought to you by this early bird pic: 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write more, but I'm falling asleep so I'll post what I have.

Harry fed the owl too many treats as Draco read the note out loud.

_Mr. Draco, Mrs. Narcissa is being asleep now. Please do not being forgetting to come home tonight. Most Sincerely, Your House Elf. Whimsy._

“Do you forget to come home a lot?” Harry asked. He looked shocked as he fed another piece of mouse jerky to the owl.

Draco stammered. “It’s not like I’m out clubbing and dragging every man home with me.”

“So, just some of them.” 

“Yes. No. What?” Draco’s face was pink, and he couldn’t blame it on the temperature in the flat. “I work late a lot. I guess Whimsy thinks I don’t come home.” 

“But not because of men.” 

Harry looked innocent, with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. 

_Oh, Merlin, he’s flirting. Is he flirting? With me?_ Draco’s thoughts jumbled, wouldn’t straighten out long enough for him to decide. _Potter’s flirting with me. Maybe he’s just being friendly._

Draco didn’t have a lot of experience. Didn’t have much experience. Had very little experience. Between being a Malfoy/social pariah and working 90 hours a week, he had so few chances. But he was almost certain that making someone tent their shorts might be an indicator of interest.

“Leading the witness, Mr. Potter. Strictly not allowed.” Draco hoped his solicitor voice didn’t quiver as much as it sounded to him. “Shall we return to the issue of the dead garden?”

Draco scrawled a note to Whimsy and sent it off with Aristotle, who was still head bumping Harry for more treats. 

“You interested in helping figure out what’s up? You’ve probably got a better idea than I do.” Harry returned the tea set to the kitchen. 

“Yes, I want to help,” Draco said, squelching the thought that at least this way he’d know Harry wasn’t actively working to kill the garden. It seemed impossible he’d ever believed that. “But I have no experience.” 

Before Harry could say anything, Draco added, “Gardening is—dirty. Worms. Bugs. I preferred reading.”

Harry nodded. “If we work together, maybe you’ll like it. Or at least not hate it.”

Draco could get on board with that. Besides, maybe the sleeveless vests weren’t really so bad. 

“Besides, I can use any potions skills you have. Something’s not adding up and I want to run some tests on the soil.” Harry looked at Draco, and Draco felt self-conscious in his weekend knockabout clothing and said so.

“Knockabout?” Harry shook his head. “For a solicitor maybe, but those clothes are nicer than anything I have. Do you own jeans?”

Draco nodded but Harry cut him off, “I mean, jeans that cost less than £200?” 

Draco squawked, offended at Potter’s insinuation. “Of course I do.”

“Less than £100? Less than £20?” Potter asked. 

Draco picked up the soldier nutcracker from amid the plants on the table. Draco mimicked Harry’s voice as he pushed the nutcracker’s lever. “Less than £100? Less than £20?” 

“Never mind. I’ll transfigure—” Harry grabbed his wand from the kitchen counter and pointed it at Draco.

Draco held the nutcracker in his left hand and drew his wand from its pocket in his trousers. “You’ll do no such thing to my cashmere jumper and Tom Ford trousers. Or I will hex your balls,” Draco threatened with his wand pointed at Harry’s crotch.

Harry slowly raised his hands in surrender. 

“Good,” Draco said, trying to look threatening, but a bubble of laughter welled up in his chest. Unlike before when he was wound so tightly that the laughter turned to sobs, Draco felt light and young again. 

Harry laid his wand on the counter. “I could loan you a pair of—” Harry looked Draco up then down, and Draco wasn’t sure if he were trying to guess Draco’s trouser size, or was enjoying himself. “—something. I’m not sure my jeans will fit you. Maybe a pair of—”

“Don’t even think about your dreadful bib and brace.” Draco shivered in revulsion. Dirty, filthy overalls. 

“We’ll see.”

Draco was certain Harry was enjoying every moment of Draco’s discomfort. 

Maybe he should have gone to that Muggle gardening store in Swindon. They wouldn’t have dragged him for his clothing. Or force him to get dirty.

What fun would that have been?


	10. Where You Would Lead Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Midge hasn't had a single customer all day. 
> 
> This chapter brought to you by and 

“Midge, what the hell smells like smoke? Did you set this place on fire again?”

Harry led them down the back staircase to the store, moving agilely in his well-worn clothes and heavy boots. Draco felt awkward in comparison, his jeans, t shirt, and flannel over shirt were stiff and uncomfortable. And who could move quickly in the clunky work boots, when all Draco felt was the galumph of each heavy step. 

“I’ve been sitting here, good as gold, since you left, and not one person has stepped through that door.” Midge cracked open another roasted chestnut and popped the meat into her mouth. “When the chestnut man set up his cart outside your door, what choice did I have?”

Harry looked around the shop, which was as empty as Midge had said. “Sundays are usually busy,” he said. “Wonder why no one’s here.”

Draco stepped toward Harry and whispered, “Maybe it’s because _she’s_ here. She probably frightened them all away.”

“I can hear you, you know.” 

Draco looked over his shoulder and had the good grace to be embarrassed. 

“Malfoy, you say?” 

_Ah. Here it comes._ Draco steeled himself for the standard vitriol about his family and Death Eaters and roasting in Hell For All of Eternity.

“When I was young,” When Harry snickered, Midge hurled a warm chestnut at him with surprising accuracy. “As I was saying, when I was young I lived near a boy. Luke. He’s the one named me Midge.”

Draco considered whether Midge was lying. Malfoy wasn’t a common surname, but he certainly wasn’t related to anyone named Luke. “I’m not familiar with a Luke. Perhaps Mother knows more of 

Harry had wandered toward the store’s glass front door, stopping to pick dead leaves from wilting plants. “Hey Midge. I figured out why no one came in today. The sign still says closed. Didn’t you flip it at 10?” 

Midge opened another chestnut. “Didn’t know to. You’ve never left me in charge at opening.”

“I can see why,” Draco said with a smirk. 

“You do know I can hear you,” Midge said, glowering at Draco. 

“This time you were meant to,” Draco said with a smile. This time he decided to meet Midge on her terms.

Harry drew in a short breath and Draco waited for Midge’s fiery answer. _Merlin, protect me._

Midge shook with laughter. “Maybe you’re not so bad after all Draco Malfoy.”

Draco grinned and felt lighter than he had all week. 

Harry still held the Open/Closed sign in his hand. “Since we’ve been closed all morning, might as well make it a day.” He replaced the sign in the window with the _Closed_ side facing Diagon Alley. “Go home, Midge.”

“Alright, love.” Midge struggled off the barstool and then reached back for her paper bag of nuts. “Draco Malfoy, would you like me to leave these for you?” 

Draco leaned in to sniff the sack. The nutty, smokey scent was overwhelming, and he covered his nose and mouth. “No, thank you.”

Midge cackled as she left through the front door, the jingle bells ringing on her shoe laces. “More for me, dear. And Harry, behave and don’t do anything I wouldn’t consider doing.” Her laughter rang clearly even after Harry closed and locked the door.

Draco raised an eyebrow and said, “That sounds interesting.” He legitimately didn’t know how she meant what she said, but he suspected she thought this was a date or something.

But it wasn’t. They were solving the mystery of his mother’s garden.

Draco shoved his hands deep into the pockets of the jeans he was wearing. They were a little too big and the Holyhead Harpies shirt was baggie. He felt like a scarecrow, like he was playing dress up.

“I never thought I’d see you in clothes from Asda,” Harry said, crossing the store to where Draco stood. 

Draco looked up. “Please don’t make fun of me.” If he were in _his_ clothes, his work suits and robes, he’d know exactly who he was. But in Harry’s clothes, he felt vulnerable and uncertain. 

Harry stepped closer as he’d done up in his flat. He smelled fresh, the scent of soap lingering from his shower. “I’m not making fun of you. I like the way you look in my clothes.” He leaned in even closer and Harry’s warm breath tickled Draco’s ear. “I’d like to see it more.”

“Yeah?” Draco asked, wanting to drag his fingers through Harry’s damp hair, his curls loose.

Harry moved so he could look in Draco’s eyes. Draco thought for a moment that Harry was going to kiss him. 

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

And just as quickly as he’d gotten close to Draco, Harry backed away and said, “We need to take a soil sample to Hogwarts for Neville to analyze. Feel like eating in Hogsmeade?”

Draco stood, missing Harry’s weight against him. Missing the heat and the presence. 

Maybe it was something after all.


	11. There I Will Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry takes Draco for a quick lunch in Hogsmeade before heading to Hogwarts to see Professor Longbottom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompts are   
> and  
> 
> 
> I'm doubling up to end by 12/25. There's one more double coming.

“When you invited me to lunch, I assumed you meant someplace with a menu. Where we could Sit. Down.” Draco side-eyed the vendor who’d set up outside of Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes in Hogsmeade. “What did you say these were again?”

Harry grinned, and Draco liked the way the cool wind made Harry’s cheeks pink. He looked like a child who’d been out in the snow too long. Of all things—Harry’s muscle t-shirts, the tight jeans, his passion for flowers, his very bad flirting—Draco never thought it would be Harry’s cheeks that would make him realize that he wanted to kiss Potter. 

“Hot dogs? You’ve had them before.” Harry took two foil-wrapped everything dogs from the vendor and handed one to Draco, who looked skeptical. “Everyone’s had hot dogs.”

Draco shook his head. “Not everyone.” He took the bottle of Coke Harry handed him and took a swig. It was sweet and delicious, but too cold for a day like today.

As they began the trek to Hogwarts, Harry sighed in exasperation. “Just eat it. It’s good.” He unwrapped his and took a huge bite and grinned again. “Good,” he mumbled through his full mouth.

“Potter. The vendor. Where does he pee?” Draco’s lunch was still tightly wrapped. 

Harry said something Draco interpreted as “What the fuck?”

“The vendor. Where does he pee? And wash his hands?” Draco thrust the hot dog toward Harry to accentuate his point. 

“For Merlin’s sake. He’s a Wizard. He’s got spells.” Harry grabbed Draco’s lunch and unwrapped the foil. “Just eat it. It’s good,” he said, putting it back into Draco’s gloved hands. 

Still doubtful, Draco sniffed the hot dog. It didn’t smell like it would kill him. And the vendor had been wearing plastic gloves. He took a small bite. It was sweet and crunchy and tart and the green stuff and the yellow stuff made his mouth pucker. He took another bite, and caught up with Harry on the path. “You might not have been completely wrong.”

Harry threw his head back and laughed, which made Draco feel warmer than hot chocolate would have. 

“Next time, you pick where we go to eat.” Harry balled up their hot dog wrappers and vanished them. 

_Next time?_ Maybe Draco wasn’t misreading Harry at all. 

The remainder of their walk they argued about whether Harry should have ordered a cold drink in this weather. Draco didn’t care which side he argued. He just liked talking to Harry. 

At the perimeter of Hogwarts, Harry took Draco’s hand in his. “The wards know me because I visit Neville a lot. If you’re with me, they’ll let you through.”

Draco threaded his fingers with Harry’s, happy to do so. As they entered the grounds without problem, Draco asked, “Wouldn’t the wards recognize me as a former student?”

“Huh. Yeah, maybe,” Harry said but didn’t let go of Draco’s hand. 

Draco didn’t mind, at all. 

He’d spent more time with Potter in the past two days than he had—well, ever. Draco liked it. Liked Potter. Could really like him. It was his easy manner, the way he rolled with whatever came up. And how he laughed. 

Now that he’d heard it, been part of it, he didn’t want to go one day without it. He lightly squeezed Harry’s hand, a silent _I think I could get used to this._

Harry didn’t miss a beat; he returned the pressure and added a brilliant smile. 

The cold, Scottish weather didn’t matter much anyway.

~*~

Neville, now known as Professor Longbottom, welcomed them to look at the garden’s soil samples in the Magical microscope.

“You’re right, Harry,” Neville said, looking from Harry to Draco. “The soil is healthy. Plenty of living microorganisms, which means the plants should thrive. There’s no herbology reason the plants should be dead.”

“Are you able to detect Magic in the sample?” Draco asked, nervous that Longbottom would still hate him 10 years later. 

“Good question,” Neville said, and projected the enlarged slide onto the wall. He strode to the wall and used his wand to point to light, sparkling particles in the sample. “I have no idea what these are. They’re not organic, so not a microbe or nutrient.”

“So, probably Magical?” Harry asked, walking up to the wall to see the slide. He shoved his glasses up onto his head. 

Draco drifted over, pretending to look at the projection; instead, he was watching Harry think. _Ok, so, pensive is a kink I didn’t know I had._ Draco’s heart beat faster and the longer he watched Harry and Longbottom talk, the more he was afraid he’d embarrass himself with an obvious hard on. 

He pulled himself away from staring and forced himself to focus on the conversation. “There’s the spell to keep the air and ground sub-tropical. Maybe that accounts for the particles.”

“It definitely could. Makes as much sense as anything I can figure,” Longbottom said, and with a flick of his wand the projection disappeared. “You’d have to find someone who analyzes Magic. And I think it would have to be someone familiar with Muggle technology to get to the microscopic level.”

Harry was quiet on the way back to Hogsmeade. Draco walked along in silence. The garden had always been an extension of his mother, so much a part of her. When Father was enraged with something ridiculous, Draco would watch her remove herself and retreat to the garden. It had always been a place of peace for her and a place where Draco felt unconditionally accepted. 

He had two thoughts as they waited for the Knight Bus to arrive. _If the garden were an extension of Mother, did that mean that Mother was dying?_ Draco could barely finish the thought; he felt ill and unprepared for her to leave him. He pushed the thought away because there was no need to borrow worry. 

_And maybe it was time to find acceptance inside himself instead of a garden._

They managed to keep their balance as the draft from the invisible Knight Bus rushed past them and skidded to a stop. Harry led them away from the beds to a couch barely big enough for two. 

“Don’t worry, Draco. We’ll figure it out,” Harry said, taking Draco’s hand into his again. “I told the driver we’re going to the Manor. I hope that’s ok.”

Draco nodded. He needed to see Mother, to talk to her and make sure she was alright. 

Neither spoke after that, both lost in their thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "the green stuff" = pickle relish  
> "the yellow stuff" = mustard
> 
> No self respecting north easterner puts ketchup on a hot dog. Also, just assume there's sauerkraut on it, but I couldn't explain THAT.


	12. Love Grows Free and Wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Harry take a tumble out of the Knight Bus, and Draco speaks with Narcissa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This bonus chapter today is brought to you by the prompt: 

The Knight Bus stopped at the Malfoy Manor gates; Draco and Harry had barely set foot on the ground when it sped off again, leaving the two men in a jumble on the ground, with Draco cushioning Harry from the frozen ground. 

Neither moved, and Draco thought for the first time since Hogwarts, that maybe Merlin was smiling down on him, giving him a nudge, _well, more than a nudge_.

“Nothing’s broken then,” Harry said, grinding his elbow into Draco’s stomach as he tried to get upright. 

“Speak for yourself, Potter,” Draco wheezed. “You’re not exactly light.”

Harry tried to gain enough footing to stand, but the grass was slick with ice in the late afternoon temperatures, and he was back atop Draco. 

“Hello again,” Harry said, looking down into Draco’s eyes. 

“This is getting to be habit,” Draco answered. Harry’s eyes were beautiful, deep green, like the emeralds Mother wore on Christmas day, and Draco wanted to be looking into them when he cried out Harry’s name in bed. _I’m in deep,_ Draco thought, and didn’t really mind.

“Me being on top of you?” Harry asked. His voice was thick and low, and Draco couldn’t have imagined it sounding like that. But it went right to his dick, which was becoming very interested in Harry. “I don’t mind switching.”

Faster than Draco could process, Harry flipped them, and Draco was looking down at Harry. “Oh, okay. Yeah. Did you say you don’t mind—switching?”

“I’m happy either way. Usually I let the other person decide.” 

Harry tilted his hips up, and Draco felt the unmistakable hardness of Harry’s cock against Draco’s thigh. Draco shivered with desire; there was a thrum of hunger in Harry’s voice that Draco couldn’t explain away. He lowered his head slowly so there was no question what he meant to do, and Harry raised his head to meet Draco’s lips. 

Their first kiss was like an electric shock that left them gasping for breath. When they kissed again, Harry grinded his cock against Draco’s thigh, and by shifting, Draco was able to align them and rock against Harry. 

“Fucking hell, Draco, you—”

The crack of apparition interrupted Harry’s sentence. 

“Mr. Draco, Whimsy is glad you are being home. Even if Whimsy has no idea what you is doing on the ground.”  
Draco groaned and lifted his head up to see her. “What is it, Whimsy?”

“Mrs. Narcissa is wanting you.” With another crack, Whimsy was gone.

“Mrs. Narcissa isn’t the only one,” Harry said under his breath.

Draco heard him, and as he stood up, he offered Harry a hand. “I feel the same. I didn’t realize—I didn’t know you were interested.”

Harry stood with Draco’s help. “I only ever went to pub nights to see you,” he admitted without embarrassment. “You walk down Diagon Alley from court, and you look so good in your tailored suits and fancy robes and your dragon-hide briefcase. Do you have any idea how incredibly hot you are?”

Draco shook his head. No, he had no idea at all. 

“I’d stand in the doorway at 5 each night, hoping I’d see you. Most nights you didn’t come by, but when you did, it was worth it.” Harry pressed his hand to Draco’s cheek and stroked the arch with his thumb. “Go see your mother. I’ll send you an owl about tomorrow.”

Before he left, Harry pulled a crumpled scrap of paper and a Muggle pen from his jacket pocket and scrawled a name on it. “After the war, I eventually went to a Mind Healer. I liked her. Maybe your mum would, too.” He thrust the paper into Draco’s hand, kissed him, and was gone.

Draco slid the paper into his jeans’ pocket. He opened the Manor’s gates and walked the long way around the grounds to his Mother’s wing of the house. He wanted to savor the afternoon, to replay their conversations and re-live their kisses. 

By the time he reached the garden, he’d decided to owl Harry and thank him for a wonderful day. The garden looked as forlorn as it had earlier, but it didn’t seem hopeless as it had yesterday, because he and Harry were working together.

~*~

Narcissa was sitting up in front of the fireplace when Draco entered her sitting room. A still-steaming cup of tea and an empty plate with the last few bites of a sandwich lay on the table at her elbow. 

“You gave me quite a scare earlier today,” Draco said crouching in front Narcissa. He took her hand in between his and held it. “You look much better now.”

“I feel better. I’m not quite sure what happened. Seeing the garden like that--it reminded me of your father.”

Draco waited for her to finish, to say more, but she said nothing else. The silence dragged out, and Draco listened to the pop and sizzle of the burning oak, the tick tick tick of the second hand of the clock. Finally, he pulled an ottoman over and sat. “This year has been difficult for you. Losing father, spending so much time alone.”

Narcissa looked at him, and her pursed lips and silence spoke louder than her words could have. 

Draco pushed his hand into the pocket and touched the paper Harry gave him. He tried again. “After the war, several people I know saw Mind Healers. They found it very helpful.” 

“I’m fine Draco. Please don’t worry about me.” Narcissa sounded irritated, but Draco thought it was an odd contrast to her night clothes and fuzzy blanket. 

“But I do. I worry about you here alone while I’m at work.” Draco rubbed his fingers over the scrap of paper in his pocket. “I wish—”

“Draco Lucius, I’m fine. I do not need you hovering over me,” Narcissa snapped. “I’ll send Whimsy to you with dinner.”

Draco knew he’d been dismissed. He kissed Narcissa’s forehead and left the room. At least she’d mustered anger. It was the first real emotion he’d heard from her in weeks.

~*~

Whimsy had delivered dinner before he’d returned to his room. After a long, cold day, the soup warmed him and filled his stomach. He wrote Harry a note as he ate, careful not to spill any broth onto the parchment.

_Potter,_

_Spending today with you wasn’t all that bad. As tomorrow is a work day, and some of us don’t have the luxury of simply closing up shop, I will stop by **Lily’s Garden** after work to see if you’ve made any headway on The Secret of the Garden._

He signed the letter with a simple D. Before he could talk himself out of it, Draco added a post script: _I think you need more practice with your kissing technique, though. I will be happy to help in any way._

Draco woke Aristotle, asleep on his perch. He tied the parchment to Aristotle’s leg and told him where to find Harry, before opening sending him out into the evening.

Draco was nervous about the note. He’d never been that forward in his life. But as he pulled a candy cane from his jacket pocket—he’d swiped the candy from Longbottom’s desk—he realized what he felt was excitement. He was eager to hear Harry’s response.

He unwrapped the plastic from the candy and decided to take a long, hot shower.

And if he tossed off thinking about Harry in those obscene shorts and the sleeveless vest, who could blame him.


	13. Safe You Will Keep Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has dinner at Harry's. In bed. It's no big deal (insert puberty voice crack)
> 
> brought to you by this prompt: 

Draco checked in on Narcissa before he Floo’d to work Monday morning. According to Whimsy, Mrs. Narcissa was being asleep. 

Draco crouched down to be eye-to-eye with Whimsy. “If Mother needs anything, get me. Please.”

Whimsy nodded seriously, her ears bobbing. For a moment, Draco remembered being young—four, maybe five—and the same height as Dobby, making him promise to keep a secret from Lucius. Draco regretted being too much of a shit at the time to appreciate Dobby. He thanked Merlin he’d changed. 

With a sigh, Draco said, “Thank you, Whimsy. I appreciate that.”

She stood straight and adjusted her tea-towel dress. “You is welcome, Mr. Draco,” Whimsy said proudly and disapparated.

Draco checked his appearance in the mirror before leaving for the office. For the next eight-plus hours, his clients were his focus. If Mother needed help, Whimsy would fetch him. 

The Mind Healer’s name was still crumpled in the pocket of yesterday’s jeans. He’d been too tired to empty his pockets last night. 

That was his last thought about home until afternoon. Real estate contracts, wills, neighbor disagreements. Draco had 20 minutes to inhale his soggy tuna and cucumber sandwich, answer any urgent owls, and brush his teeth before his 2:00 appointment arrived. 

He sorted through the stack of letters and wiped mayonnaise from his tie as he tried to ignore a tiny owl tapping at his office window. After 5 minutes, Draco caved in and opened the window. He swore he could still hear the tapping in his mind.

The owl, no taller than 6 inches, hopped on one foot and held the other out for Draco, who untied the parchment. The tiny owl flew up to a perch and immediately fell asleep. 

_Malfoy,_

_Send Chrysanthemum with the time you’ll be here, and I’ll have dinner made._

_H._

_PS: Are you sure it’s_ my _technique that needs work?_

Draco laughed and looked at the owl, sound asleep and hooting quietly in her sleep. “Chrysanthemum? That’s a very big name for a very small owl.”

Before he could say more, his assistant announced his 2 o’clock appointment.

~*~

By 9, Draco had closed the last file folder, rinsed the dregs of tea from his cup, and turned out the light. Hoping for the best, Draco tossed Floo powder into the flames and called “Lily’s Garden” before stepping in.

The Floo spit him out into Harry’s arms. “Not bad,” Draco said, dusting himself off. 

Harry pretended to be insulted. “Not bad? Some people say I look pretty good.”

Draco didn’t bother to clarify that he meant his landing. Instead, he stepped back and twirled his finger in a slow circle. Harry turned in place, giving Draco ample opportunity to inspect him. Harry wore tweed trousers that were well tailored to fit his muscular thighs. The long-sleeved polo shirt barely fit and fit beautifully at the same time. 

“Christ, Harry,” Draco said when Harry finished his spin. “How can that shirt show off more of you than the sleeveless one. Not that I’m complaining.”

Harry blushed at the compliment, as if he didn’t know how to respond. He turned and motioned for Draco to follow him as he headed up the stairs to his flat. “I made a vegetable stew and picked up some bread from the bakery. Something, y’know, substantial on a cold night.”

Draco’s stomach growled; the sandwich he never finished definitely didn’t tide him over. “It smells delicious. You can cook?”

“Either that or live at the Burrow. And since Ginny and I broke up, that’s not really a good choice.” Harry looked over his shoulder at Draco, and then ladled the stew into bowls. 

Draco looked at the kitchen table, which looked like it held even more plants than the day before. “Where do you usually eat?”

“I was going to clear that so we could eat there, but to be honest, I usually eat dinner in bed.”

Draco coughed, and Harry rushed to explain. “I mean, I’m usually cold and tired, and the bed is big—”

Draco grinned. He liked this flustered Harry, tripping over his words. “Is that so?”

“It’s not like I’m trying to get you into my bed.” 

Draco snorted, and Harry backpedaled again. “I mean, I’m not _not_ trying—I mean—oh, fuck it.” Harry stalked over to Draco and kissed him. The hard press of lips eased to something softer and more seductive until they parted.

“For the record,” Draco said, breathing heavily. He brushed Harry’s cheek with his knuckles. “I’m ok with you trying to get me into bed.”

“That sounds bloody brilliant,” Harry said as he kissed Draco’s knuckles. “But I really have to eat first. I’m starving.”

Harry ladled the stew into bowls and placed them on a tray next to the warm bread and butter. Draco pulled two bottles of ale from the fridge and followed Harry up the hall. 

Harry laid the tray on the side table and turned down the comforter on the king size bed, which was the focal point of the room. The wardrobe against the side wall was tidy and had only a few plants along the top. The room was simple and comfortable, and Draco thought that suited Harry. He didn’t own much, but what he did was excellent quality and designed to last. 

Harry sat on the bed and seemed to debate whether to take his shoes off. 

“Potter. I haven’t spent a lot of time here, but I’m certain you don’t lounge in your bed in tweed.” Draco pointed to Harry’s clothes. “You look amazing, don’t get me wrong. But don’t dress that way because you think you need to impress me. I’m already impressed.”

Harry nodded and grabbed a pair of flannel sleep trousers and a Gryffindor t-shirt. “What about you? Do you?”

Draco’s heart skipped at beat at the thought of being in bed with Harry. Right now, his suit was his armor. If he stripped down, he thought it would be all too obvious how much he wanted Harry. “I’m good,” Draco stuttered out. “I wear a suit all the time.”

“Even when you lounge in bed? I doubt it.” Harry shook his head and retrieved an extra pair of flannel trousers and t-shirt. “The loo is there.” He tilted his head to the back of the room and waved the clothes at Draco. 

Sleep clothes. In bed. With Harry.

This wasn’t any kind of armor at all.


	14. A Man Who Came to My Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Really, once you have dinner in bed, you have to have dessert. Amirite, ladies?
> 
> VERY loosely brought to you by this prompt: I say loosely, because to me, all of London is clumped in one square block. the theater district, diagon alley, the palace, the eye. So, if you live in London, please just smile and nod and say, "Oh, that crazy American."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This IS the sex you were looking for.

“That was delicious,” Draco said, dropping his spoon into the empty bowl. “I can barely boil water.” 

Harry took Draco’s bowl and leaned across him to set the it on the far side table. He pressed his chest against Draco’s, and Draco shuddered a breath. He’d been thinking about this, wanted to touch Harry since their first kiss. Being together in bed made his desire more real, as if it were inevitable that they would have sex, and that was exciting and frightening at the same time.

When his hands were empty, Harry cupped Draco’s cheeks. He rested his forehead against Draco’s and for a moment, they breathed the same air, warm and heavy with the scent of garlic and red wine from the stew. 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Harry whispered, his voice loud in the silence of the bedroom. “I wanted to ask you out for so long, but I thought you’d say no.”

“I had no idea,” Draco said and brushed his lips over Harry’s. And he hadn’t. He’d thought Harry was just being polite, making small talk in the pub those night. And for Draco, Harry had been a fantasy come to being, ticking every kink Draco had: thick thighs and ass to clutch, curls to bury his fingers in, a calm manner, and bright eyes he could imagine looking up at Draco as he dropped to his knees. 

Their kisses turned needy, and as Harry’s tongue moves over Draco’s, he imagined Harry licking the drops of pre-come from his cock, sliding over the head and dipping the tip of his tongue into the slit. 

“Wait.” Draco said, his breath heavy. He put his hands on Harry’s chest. “Wait, please.”

Harry’s chest rose and fell in his Gryffindor t-shirt. “You ok?”

Draco nodded, and when his breath was controlled, he pulled the comforter over his lap and folded his hands on his legs. “Potter. I don’t do _casual.”_

Harry fumbled at the bulge in his sleep trousers. “Wh-what?”

“I don’t do casual. I like you, but I’m not someone’s fuck-buddy. I’d rather know now—” Draco held his breath; he wanted to be with Harry, but on his own terms. He was too old to play. 

Harry cocked his head and simply stared. “Do I seem like someone who does casual, Malfoy? Me?”

Draco shrugged. Harry had to _say it,_ say that he wanted a relationship; he wouldn’t assume any more. 

“I went to your office for legal advice about something stupid, just to see you,” Harry said. “Couldn’t get past your secretary.” He slid closer to Draco and laid his palm over Draco’s heart. “I’m sorry about the garden, but not really, because I get to be with you. And I’ll be here long after we figure that out.”

Draco sighed, his emotions settled after Harry’s words. He reached out, letting his fingers drift over Harry’s cheek, tracing his lips with a fingertip. 

“I had to ask,” Draco said before he kissed Harry. 

“Glad you did,” Harry said before he kissed Draco back. 

They slipped under the covers and spent the night learning each other’s naked bodies. Draco kissed Harry’s chest then slowly to his hips, spending more time when Harry would whimper or would push down on the back of Draco’s head. Draco’s body responded to being helpless, his cock throbbing each time Harry grabbed his hair to hold him in place.

Draco pressed his mouth against the cut of Harry’s hip and sucked until a bruise blossomed under his lips. No one would ever see it, but Draco would know it was there. He kissed Harry’s cock, swirled his tongue over the head and took in as much as he could, moving up and down the shaft, sucking him until Harry begged. The more he begged, the more Draco wanted him, wanted this. Wanted _them._

“I’m gonna—” Harry warned, and Draco pulled off letting Harry splash across his face. Harry moaned at mess and pulled Draco closer to wipe the come from his face. Then he thrust his hand between their bodies, jacking Draco’s cock until he spilled over Harry’s fist. 

They lay back on the pillows, breathing roughly, until Draco had enough energy to wet a cloth and clean them off. He dropped it onto the floor because kissing Harry was more important than being neat. 

They talked late into the night before they fell asleep, the skyline of Charing Cross Road outside Harry’s window having long since turned pink and purple to the darkest blue.

Draco woke with Harry’s weight on him and the bright sun shining in his face. He had just enough time to kiss Harry goodbye before disapparating to the Manor for breakfast with Mother. 

Although he’d thrown on new clothes and brushed his hair, Draco realized as he entered the dining room, that he’d never looked in a mirror. 

He hoped Harry hadn’t left any marks. At least, none that could be seen by Mother.


	15. When You Feel Your Heart Is Poundin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast with Mother after ALL THE SEX. Harry's found someone who can maybe help with the garden, but they'll need to wear Muggle Clothing.
> 
> Brought to you by the worst prompt so far: 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love writing wizards. don't know your way around something? say it's magic! lol

Draco dropped into his usual chair at the table and spooned some scrambled eggs onto his plate.

He’d woken up next to Harry less than an hour ago, warm and happy, and the only thing he wanted was to get back there. Sure, the sex was brilliant, but it was more than just that. Eating dinner in bed wasn’t something you did with a quick shag. Harry had allowed Draco in to an intimate part of his life, and Draco wanted more. 

“You’re certainly in a good mood this morning, Draco,” Mother said from the other end of the table. She looked healthier, less over wrought, but Draco had been blind once. 

“Yes. I have a light work load today,” he said, evading the truth. Harry was his secret to cherish for now. 

“I’m relieved since you were at work quite late last night. I knocked on your door at almost midnight to wish you good sleep, but you didn’t answer.” Narcissa poured more coffee and added cream. “They work you much too hard, Draco.”

“They really don’t, Mother. I’m still climbing the proverbial ladder.” 

“I don’t like it.” Narcissa tsk’d in disagreement. “Have you, by chance, heard from Mr. Potter? I’d hoped by now that the garden would show a spark of life. Perhaps I should consult—”

“No.” Draco cut her off. He explained what they’d learned at Hogwarts. “I trust him.”

“That’s quite a change.” Narcissa raised her eye brow. “Are you certain?” She pushed the food around on her plate. Draco wondered if she were trying to make it look like she’d eaten something. 

Draco dabbed his mouth with the napkin and then placed it on the table. “I’ve—enjoyed working with him. He’s not who he was.” 

“None of us are, Draco. We change and grow based on our life experiences. It would be easy for someone to give up, to become bitter and angry. It’s much more difficult not to.” Narcissa pushed away her plate. “If you believe in him, then I shall wait.”

Draco kissed Mother’s forehead before leaving. “Have you given any more thought to a Mind Healer?”

“I will. I promise.” Narcissa hugged him around the hips. “Go along or you’ll be late for work.”

Draco reminded himself to pull Potter’s recommendation from the jeans, which were still on the floor next to his bed. And then he smiled because of why he hadn’t tidied up lst night.  
~*~

A furious, tiny tapping interrupted Draco’s appointment with Mr. and Mrs. Evans. Since Chrysanthemum clearly wouldn’t stop until Draco let her in, he apologized to his clients and opened the window. The Evans were charmed as Chrysanthemum bobbed up and down and allowed Mrs. Evans to scratch her feathers. 

Draco untied the parchment from her leg and slid it into a drawer so he wouldn’t be tempted to read the note. “If we could return to your Will…”

“Take a moment to read your letter, Mr. Malfoy,” Mrs. Evans ordered as she petted Chrysanthemum and told her she was a very beautiful girl, yes she was.

Draco kept one eye on Mrs. Evans as he read. He was afraid she’d hide Chrysanthemum—now asleep on Mrs. Evans’ shoulder—in her satchel and take her home. 

_D,_

_Heard from Neville. Gave me a name of a man he thinks can help. Long story, but we can see him tonight. Can you be here at 7?_

_H._

 

Draco scrawled a _yes_ on the note and woke up Chrysanthemum to return to Harry. 

Mrs. Evans stood abruptly, knocking her chair over. “Come along, Bernard. I can’t possibly use a solicitor who treats us like rubbish!” And she stormed out of Draco’s office.

Mr. Evans stood. “You really shouldn’t have allowed her to become attached to the owl.” He stalked out after her. 

“Fucking idiots,” Draco said, shaking his head. Absolute nutters.

~*~

“Good news, bad news,” Harry said after he kissed Draco. Quite thoroughly.

“Hmmmm?” Draco stood with his eyes closed, swaying toward Harry who had rudely stopped kissing him. 

“Neville Fire-called me. There’s a non-Magical Wizard who lives at a place called Exeter College. It’s in Oxford?” Harry disappeared into his bedroom but continued talking. “She specializes in Earth Magic. He thinks she can help us.”

“Is that the good news or the bad news?” Draco asked.

“Bad news, because she’s kind of a recluse. The only time she goes out is for the Exeter Christmas party, which is tonight.” 

“What’s the good news?” Draco asked. He heard Harry’s bootsteps on the wooden floor.

“I got us Muggle suits so we’ll fit in.” 

Harry sounded so proud of his resourcefulness. 

Draco didn’t know what to say. 

The suits were the most garish, hideous obscenities he’d ever seen. 

They weren’t suits. They were clown costumes. 

“Aren’t they perfect?” Harry asked, his smile fading as Draco’s silence lengthened.

“They’re—” Draco began. “I mean, I—” He didn’t want to argue with Harry, but looking at the fabric chaos that was impersonating suits made his stomach lurch.

Harry just looked so damn pleased. “Look, I’ll put mine on, so you can see.” He summoned a white button down and then pulled his work shirt over his head. 

The other night in the dark, Draco hadn’t seen the definition of Harry’s abdominal muscles or the sparse hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his trousers. 

Draco watched as Harry shucked his jeans and looked over his shoulder at Draco. He winked, and in a reverse strip tease, Harry slowly stepped into the suit trousers, slid the shirt on and pushed each button through its hole until his chest was covered with the cotton. He wove the tie under the collar and knotted it before slipping on the suit jacket. 

How could putting clothes _on_ be the fucking hottest thing Draco had ever seen? He shoved his hands into his pocket so he wouldn’t get off track and drag Harry to bed. Because even smokin’ hot Harry couldn’t undo the monstrous sartorial abomination that was those suits. 

“You look incredible in a suit,” Draco said, hoping his plan wouldn’t backfire. He grabbed the extra fabric where it sagged at Harry’s arse. “I know a few tailoring charms. May I?” He kissed Harry again, nipped his bottom lip, and then brushed his lips over it in apology.

Harry nodded, but didn’t speak. Draco wondered if Harry _could_ speak, because he was having a hell of a time remembering how. Not that he could hear anything over his heartbeat.

With Draco’s precise wand movements, the trousers altered their fit, curving over Harry’s bottom and thighs and tapering to his ankle. They grazed the top of his shoes. The shirt was alright, but the jacket seemed to have padded shoulders and the sleeves hung over Harry’s wrists. 

The last charm changed the bright red fabric to a charcoal grey wool serge, something that Vivienne Westwood would have been proud to claim. 

Draco conjured a floor-length mirror. Harry faced the mirror, his face tight. He turned sideways, then another quarter turn until his back was to the mirror. Harry looked over his should to check out his backside. 

“What do you think?” Draco asked, praying he hadn’t offended Harry. 

When he spoke, Harry’s voice was silk and sex. “If you look like this in your suit, I’m not sure we’ll be leaving the flat tonight.”

Draco did. 

And they did leave the flat on time, but only because Draco swore Harry could strip him out of the suit afterward.


	16. Come and Look at It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They try to find the recluse to help them analyze the soil. 
> 
> Brought to you by two prompts:  
>   
> and  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In laws. teacher gifts. kids with exams. my best laid plans of mice and men ran amok. thanks for your patience.
> 
> also, I'm super sorry for the bad puns. but my hockey friends will LOVE it.

Draco and Harry apparated into the Dining Hall at Exeter, outside the doors of the annual Faculty Christmas Party. Harry patted his suit pocket to make sure the soil sample was still intact.

They needn’t have worried about being seen. “Do you think any of them are sober?” Harry asked, watching the wild gyrating, with men and women grinding on each other. They splashed their drinks as they danced, and the floor was slick with liquor and punch. Empty Christmas crackers littered the tables, shoved into empty wine glasses and tossed onto half-filled dinner plates. 

Draco drew closer to Harry. “I like the way they’re dancing, but it’s going to be hard to tell who our man is. What’s his name?”

Draco watched a man and woman close to them and copied their moves so he and Harry would better blend in. Draco pressed his chest to Harry’s and straddled his thigh, rolling his hips in time with the music.

Harry searched his suit pockets for the tiny slip of paper with the name of their contact. He found it just as Draco began pulling at Harry’s tie. “Frances Hornqvist. That’s his name.”

Draco backed away, but it was too late. His cock was stiff and obvious; it ached from pretend-riding Harry for those few minutes. He closed his eyes and allowed the pulse of the deep base to thread through him. It felt primal, feral. What he wanted right now—needed right now—was to drag Harry to the loo and suck him off hard and fast, without any finesse. Draco would toss off at the same time and make a disgusting, wonderful mess.

“—listening, Draco?”

Goddamn it, no he wasn’t listening. With no pretense of discretion, Draco reached into his trousers to rearrange his dick, giving it a hard squeeze to stave off any embarrassment. It was bad enough he was ruining the _line_ of the suit; he didn’t need to ruin the suit itself.

“What do we do, Potter? Just ask everyone if they’re Frances Hornqvist?” Draco buttoned his suit jacket and tugged the hem down, hoping it would disguise some of the problem.

“I know a Hornqvist through the shop. Tall, blonde Swede. So maybe this one is blond, too.”

Draco didn’t seem convinced it would be that simple. He easily spied more than a handful of blond men, any of whom could have been Swedish.

Eventually they wound up stopping men and asking, “Are you Frances Hornqvist?”

They were met with a laugh each time. “Nah, mate. You got it all wrong. I’m not Horny.”

“What the fuck did he just say?” Draco asked, pulling on Harry’s sleeve.

“Something about being horny.”  


They got the same answer from each man they asked, although some just laughed.

“This Hornqvist can’t be much of a recluse if he works with _these_ people,” Draco said with a wave of his hand. “Who knew that Muggle scientists had so much fun.”

“And fuck so much,” Harry laughed. “Because none of them are horny.”

A young blonde woman teetered toward them. In her stiletto heels, she had several inches on both men. She draped herself around Harry. “I’m Horny. I heard you want me.”

“I’m sure you did,” Draco snarked, openly looking her up and down. His voice dripped with disdain and cold anger. “Would you mind peeling yourself off my boyfriend?”

_Oh, fuck fuck fuck. Boyfriend?_

Harry looked up at Draco and smiled broadly. “Boyfriend?” he mouthed.

Draco rolled his eyes and nodded. He wanted to be cool about it, to let it roll off him like it was no big deal, but he couldn’t. Harry was his boyfriend, and Draco felt a giggle of excitement well up.

The blonde ran her fingers through Harry’s fringe. “Oh Merlin, you’re Harry Potter.” She stood upright, and Draco realized that the falling-down drunk was an act.

“Frances? Frances Hornqvist?” Draco asked.

“You’re not a man,” Harry sputtered, gaping openly at her body.

“Oh, well spotted, Potter,” Draco said, grabbing him by the wrist. “Can we do what we came here for?”

Draco dragged Harry to the foyer—which was only marginally less noisy—and Horny followed.

“It’s cute how jealous you are,” Horny said to Draco with a smirk.

“If I didn’t need something from you, I’d just kill you now.” Draco was done, so very done with this night. His empty threat had no effect on Horny, who continued to smile at him condescendingly.

“This is Draco Malfoy,” Harry said to Horny. “And yeah. I’m Harry. My friend—he teaches Herbology at Hogwarts—he said you might be able to help us with some research.”

“He also said you were a recluse.” It was Draco’s turn to smirk. “But he was wrong about that, so---”

At the word _research,_ her manner changed. The drunken party girl image was gone, replaced by a clear-eyed, curious scientist.

Harry elbowed Draco. “Shut up. We need her help. But you’re hot when you’re jealous.”

Without question, she led them out of the Dining Hall and across the Quad to a dark, imposing building. Draco slid his wand from its pocket and cast a quick _Lumos_ to light the path. She led them through the warren of offices down to the inky dark basement.

Draco had no idea how she could stand in those knife-point shoes, but to walk self-assured across the ice and around the shadowy building. That was a magic in itself.

She flipped the light switch, and Draco shielded his eyes. The harsh, white light was jarring, and he immediately cast a dimming spell, at least until his eyes became accustomed to the shock.

Horny put on her white lab coat as she waited for her computer to awaken. “Sorry about all that before,” she said, waving her hand toward Harry. “I’m not really a Squib, but I’m not really not a Squib. Sometimes, I have Magic. It’s erratic and untamed, and it’s easier to let the Muggles think I’m just a ditsy, klutzy blonde.” She twirled her hair around her finger and changed her posture, and Horny was the girl from the party again. “I’m called Horny. Or Franny. Take your pick.”

Draco was impressed at how small affectations could change his perception of her.

“Tell me what you have.” She twisted her hair up into a bun and then held her hand out for the sample. “What’s the issue?”

Draco told her about Mother’s garden and the Magic that helped it grow. Harry added in the insight he had from his research with Neville.

“The only thing thriving in Narcissa’s garden is the Mexican Hand tree,” Harry mentioned at the end.

“Everything’s dead except that tree.” She rolled the dirt in the test tube as she thought. “Any house plants? Are they growing?”

“I gave her some Paperwhites, but that was just a couple days ago,” Harry said. “But yeah, they look good.”

Hornqvist put the tube next to her microscope. “I’ll look at this tomorrow morning.” She scrawled something on a paper and handed it to Harry. “Send an owl to this address tomorrow, and we’ll see if I’ve found anything.”

Draco stole a glance over his shoulder as they left Hornqvist’s office. He suspected she wouldn’t wait til morning to examine the dirt, and he was right. She was already tapping small spoonfuls onto glass to examine under her microscope. 

When they returned to **Lily’s Garden,** Harry invited Draco up to his flat.

“I want to,” Draco said with a yawn, “but I have a long day tomorrow. Rain check?” 

Harry pulled Draco to him and tucked a strand of hair behind Draco’s ear. “Oh, yes. Also—” Harry pointed above their heads and grinned. 

Mistletoe. 

“I don’t make the law,” Harry said, threading his fingers through Draco’s hair. “I just follow it.”

The kiss was soft and sweet, a promise for the next night. 

“I could come to yours,” Harry offered.

“I would love that. But I want to tell Mother about us first,” Draco said, kissing Harry a final time before heading to the Floo. “I’m not sure how she’ll feel about it. About us.”

With that, Draco Floo’d home to his empty flat at the Manor.

For the first time, alone felt very alone.


	17. I Can Tell If a Thing Is Wick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Horny has answers, but they only raise more questions
> 
> today's prompt: 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there will be 22 chapters. We are on track to end on 12/25

Draco wanted to tell Mother. 

That he was—with Harry. 

_With_ Harry. 

They were _together._

That Harry was his boyf—

Draco practiced what he would say. Through the shower. Through the shaving charms. As he buttoned his shirt and knotted his tie. 

In the end, it would have to start with, “Mother, I’m gay.” 

Somehow, he’d made it to almost 30 without having had _that_ conversation. 

“Fuck it,” he grumbled and Floo’d to the Wizard Starbucks near his office. The coffee was dreadful—watery and tepid, but with twice the caffeine as anything he could have made—and had the bonus of nothing having a disappointed mother or disapproving house elf. 

For Merlin’s sake. He was a loving, attentive son. A successful solicitor. On partnership track at work. He had good friends and a great life. 

Why would he assume she’d be upset?

The questions narrated his day, playing on a loop in his head through each client appointment. He was frazzled and short-tempered when he left the office after his no lunch-no break lunchbreak for his 1:00 meeting at Gringott’s. Maybe the cold air would clear his mind, because this was making him daft. 

Diagon Alley was clogged with merry shoppers carrying too many paper sacks filled with the perfect gifts. A sign in Flourish & Blott’s window announced, Only 5 Days ‘Til Christmas!

“Dammit,” Draco said out loud, drawing the anger of one mother with little ones, who pulled her children closer and hustled away. He hadn’t bought one Christmas gift. And it wasn’t happening today with back to back to back appointments and meeting Harry afterward.

Draco smiled at the thought of seeing Harry. Some of the frustration and aggravation of the day bled away. Not all of it, but he had a little bit of Happy to carry around in his heart. Maybe tomorrow he and Harry could go shopping. Have dinner at that little café that just opened, the one with the heavenly Molten Chocolate Soufflés. 

He felt lighter as he dodged families as he walked to his meeting. He even sang along to the Muggle Christmas carols playing through the speakers.

~*~

Draco Floo’d back from Gringott’s but was still late for his next appointment. He asked his assistant for five minutes before sending the next clients in. The morning mail had gone unanswered; he swore there was a multiplication charm on them. If he didn’t attend to it now, it would triple by close of business.

Three owls jockeyed for his attention outside the window, but Chrysanthemum was the only one he cared about. He took the letters from the other two, gave them treats, and sent them on their way. Chrysanthemum hopped inside onto the mail desk and waited patiently for her turn. 

“I can’t answer now,” Draco said, pointing to the perch. “Have a nap, and then I’ll send you back.” He triaged the mail, deciding all except one could wait. 

Then he read Harry’s note. 

 

_**Meet me at the Manor garden after work. We’ll owl Hornqvist and do what we can.**_

 

He could do this, get through the next three appointments and the end of day paperwork. Then he’d see Harry. 

 

~*~

Draco Floo’d to his flat at the Manor; as soon as he stepped from the hearth, he began stripping off his suit. Most of the pieces landed on the fainting couch at the foot of his bed. He’d hang them later. 

The jeans were still in a clump on the side of his bed. Draco could only assume he and Harry would be mucking about in the dirt, so he might as well wear those trousers again. He suppressed his annoyance at his recent lack of tidiness, and with a promise to do better, he put on the jeans. He added a turtle neck and thick sweater before joining Harry in the garden.

“Any word?” Draco asked the body sprawled on the ground under the Mexican Hand tree. 

Harry shook his head as he dug his hands through the loose soil. “It’s not tropical here, but it’s definitely warmer.” He scrambled to his feet and held his hands up. “I don’t want to touch you because I’m dirty. I mean, I _want_ to touch you—”

“I’ll touch you, then.” Draco leaned in and kissed Harry. “So, you’re saying that part of the original spell is still here.”

Harry frowned and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. Nothing about this makes sense. Why this tree and nothing else.”

“It was Father’s,” Draco said. “Have I already mentioned that? His father planted it in his honor when he was born.”

Harry dropped to the bench. He scraped his teeth over his bottom lip as he thought. “I wonder—that’s gotta—fuck, I wish I had one of those smart phones Muggles always carry. I need to know more about this tree, but I don’t want to go back to the store.”

A rustle in the bushes drew their attention, and a white artic fox pushed through the dead plants. 

“Hey fella,” Harry said, walking slowly toward the fox. “You lost? Hurt?”

The fox cocked its head as if it could understand Harry, who offered his hand for the fox to sniff.

“Potter. Don’t be an idiot. It could be dangerous. Rabid. It could bite you.” Draco didn’t believe in omens, but artic foxes didn’t belong in Wiltshire. He didn’t want Harry to do something stupid like try to pick it up or make it live with him.

“Shhhhh. S’ok.” He turned to smile at Draco but spooked the fox, who darted out of the garden and back into the woods at the edge of the property. 

They had no time to chase the fox; Chrysanthemum came into view, her tiny wings flapping at double speed. Harry held out his arm for her, but she chose Draco’s shoulder instead. With a quiet hoot, she held her leg out for one of them to untie the letter. 

 

_**Too much to owl. Floo here so I can explain.**_

 

The letter contained the Floo address for what Draco assumed was the large fireplace in her office. Draco was exhausted and hungry. He agreed with Harry. Sometimes, Muggle ideas like telephones were better. They could have just called her. 

Draco’s stomach complained loudly about his lack of lunch. When Harry looked sympathetic, Draco waved him off. “Mother needs this solved. We can eat after.”

With a last look toward the woods, Draco led Harry to the house. Maybe Hornqvist would have an actual answer.

 

~*~

They stepped into Hornqvist’s warm, cozy office. Draco hadn’t noticed the Christmas decorations the night before, including the Santa Lucia wreath crown on her desk. The 9 candles burned merrily, and Draco watched in fascination as her elbow passed within centimeters of the flames more times than he could count. 

The holiday elegance of her office clashed with the stench of putrefaction that assaulted them with their first breath. Draco gagged and transfigured a piece of paper from Horny’s desk into a handkerchief that he quickly used to mask the foul odor. Harry held his nose and tried to speak.

“Professor Hornqvist?” Harry asked to pull her attention from whatever it was that she was working on. It smelled like a graveyard for the recently deceased

She looked up from her microscope, still squinting, and stared at Harry and Draco. “Can I help you?”

The party girl with shimmery, glittery clothes was gone. In her place was the same woman, but wearing oversized running clothes. Instead of the long curls, her hair was braided into two pigtails that were held on the top of her head by what looked like a Muggle pencil.

Harry cast bubble head charms for him and Draco. 

“What the hell are you cooking? It smells like shit,” Draco said through the plastic.

She looked confused and sniffed the air. “Hmmm. I don’t smell anything, but there may well be shit. I’m studying the decay rate of plants in typical forests versus magical forests.” With another heavy sniff she said, “I think your nose is just too sensitive.”

Draco cut her off because even the air in the bubble smelled terrible. “What did you find in the soil sample.”

She’d already gone back to the microscope and had to pull her head back up to answer Draco. “What sample?”

“For fuck’s—” Draco’s words were sharp, and Harry grabbed Draco’s hand that had already curled into a fist.  
“For Malfoy Manor,” Harry explained patiently. “The dead garden with trace Magic in it?”

Hornqvist looked up from the microscope again. “There _was_ trace Magic in it. It was old Magic, older than any I’d ever seen. Whatever it is, it’s working in combination with the Earth’s natural magic. Possibly with ley lines, if the garden is on an intersection or confluence of lines.”

“That makes some sense,” Draco said, emphasizing _some_. “The Celts built the original home on that site over 2000 years ago, sometime before the Muggles’ Jesus was born.”

Hornqvist pulled the pencil from her braid and chewed on the rubber. “That’s not the interesting part. That tree that isn’t dead. That’s interesting. The magic there is new, days old, like someone cast a charm to keep it alive.”

“Why?” Harry mused. “Why that tree.” 

“I Googled it,” she said, which meant nothing to Draco. “Did you know it’s also called the Devil’s tree or Devil’s Hand tree?”

Harry tried to slap his forehead but hit the bubble instead. “I should have known. And the paperwhite!”

“Don’t play with me, Potter. I’m tired and this air is fucking foul.” Draco ended the charm and found that the room air was marginally easier to breathe. 

Harry popped his bubble and took Draco’s shoulders. “You told me the tree was planted in honor of your father. It’s a Devil’s tree. Lucius is another name for devil. And paperwhites are part of the Narcissus family.”

Draco dropped his chin to his chest. “The only plants she owns that are still alive are Lucius and Narcissa.”

“Thanks, Horny,” Harry called, dragging Draco to the Floo. She waved them goodbye absently, her mind already back on the forest. 

“Your mother is keeping symbols of herself and your father alive while everything else is dying,” Harry explained to Draco before they entered the fireplace. “The question is, why?”

Draco had no idea.


	18. Took a Graidly Fancy to Thee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They discuss Narcissa's involvement and finally go speak with her. 
> 
> Today's two prompts:   
>   
> and  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, not 22 chapters but 21. I've given the kids strict orders: no one's going anywhere any day til I finish my chapters. lol.

Draco and Harry Floo’d back to the Manor. In and of themselves, Hornqvist’s revelations were too much to analyze on his own. But they were about Mother. 

Draco collapsed onto the nearest sofa. He felt weary, as if his body weighed twice as much, as if moving were impossible. When he thought about Mother, her pain and the depth of her sadness and how he’d failed her—he wanted to sleep and pray that when he woke up, he’d be 10 again and would make different decisions. 

He turned to Harry, who’d sat close enough that their legs touched. Harry took Draco’s hand into his. “I’m sorry, Draco. That was rough to hear.”

“I know she’s an adult and can take care of herself. But, I feel like I’ve failed her. I can’t even get her to see a fucking mind healer.” Draco squeezed his eyes closed, not wanting to cry in front of Harry again. 

Harry said nothing. He held Draco’s hand and waited. 

“I don’t understand,” Draco said, turning his head to Harry. “That spell has been in place since my parents were married more than 30 years ago. Why now?”

“I don’t know a lot, like Hornqvist does,” Harry began with a sigh. “But I know that spells do what the caster tells them to do. It can’t randomly work on one plant and not another. I think it’s more complicated that just your mum’s mental health.”

Draco dropped his head back against the sofa and covered them with his hands. He tried to think clearly, but it was so difficult. He was tired. 

Harry’s stomach growled, and he quickly apologized. “Don’t worry. I just haven’t eaten.”

Draco rubbed his stomach. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Maybe food would help. He slapped his hands on his thighs and said, “C’mon, Potter. Help me cook.”

“You cook?” Harry sounded shocked and Draco laughed.

“Not like Sunday dinner, but I can manage a fry up.” Draco rummaged through his fridge. “Maybe.” He pulled out a carton of eggs, a questionably fresh tomato, and a loaf of bread he examined twice for moldy bits. 

The pantry provided a can of baked beans and a can of mushrooms. “Is that alright,” Draco asked. “I don’t have any bacon or sausage.”

“They’re the best part, though,” Harry whined, checking the bread another time.

Draco brushed his hands through his hair, messing it up wildly. “Oh, Malfoy. A fry up? That’s so—common of you.” He stuck his hands on his hips with his elbows at angles, and rolled his eyes as many time as he could.

Harry stared. “What the actual fuck are you doing?”

Draco rolled his eyes one last time. “I’m being you.”

“Like hell you are. I don’t talk like that—at all,” Harry huffed, obviously irritated at Draco’s impersonation. 

Draco pointed at Potter, who’d just proven his point, and laughed. Then he kissed Harry, a loud smack on his cheek. “I know. But it was fun to see you ruffled.”

“Just fucking feed me, Malfoy. No matter how common,” Harry said, laughing as he put the dodgy tomato on the table. “And Merlin, fix your hair. It’s just—wrong.”

“You think _my_ hair is wrong?” Draco grabbed the pans from the cupboards and shook them at Harry. “Your hair constantly looks like you’ve had someone grabbing it while you had sex.”

Harry waggled his eyebrows. “You offering?”

Harry’s stomach answered before Draco could. 

“Just find us a place to sit and eat,” Draco said, shoving Harry out of the kitchen.

Out of Draco’s sight, Harry was suspiciously quiet, but Draco was too busy timing the eggs to be done at the same time as the beans and mushrooms. _Thank Merlin I didn’t try to make any Bubble & Squeak._ “I’m plating the food,” Draco yelled out.

“Come find me,” Harry answered, from what Draco assumed was the lounge. 

Draco stood in the lounge doorway, his mouth agape. He almost dropped the plates in surprise.

Harry turned toward the door, his face bathed in red and green light. “I hope you don’t mind. I found your box of decorations in the corner, and—” He gestured around the room. 

The Christmas tree was gorgeous. 

Strands of white fairy lights intertwined with strands of red and green. Instead of ornaments, Harry had transfigured tissues (judging by the empty box laying on the floor) into white and red poinsettia blossoms hung with delicate gold ribbons from the ends of the branches. 

At the top of the tree was the star that had been carefully packed away, hidden at the bottom of Draco’s box of decorations. When he was very young, when his family’s tree had been a patchwork of handmade ornaments in all shapes and sizes, when he’d loved the day they put up the tree—the three of them together—more than any other day of the year, his papa would pick him up and hold Draco high enough to place the star on the top of the tree while Mother watched, proud of her two favorite boys. And always, Papa kissed Draco’s cheek, and then Draco was allowed to use Papa’s wand to light the tree. 

Eventually, Father had kissed enough arses to elevate them into high society, with the Parkinsons and the Zabinis to name just two, and that year, the Christmas tree disappeared, replaced by something _artfully created_. Matching baubles, coordinating colors. Multiple trees throughout the house, designed to impress. 

Draco hated it. And he hated himself every Christmas for holding out the tiniest flicker of hope that _this_ might be the year they put up a proper tree. But those trees stayed, and Papa became Father. 

But the star Harry’d used, which had been wrapped and buried at the bottom of Draco’s box of decorations. 

That was the star they’d used when they’d been a real family. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, as if he’d done something wrong. “I shouldn’t have. But the box was sitting there, and you’ve been so worried, and I thought—” He smiled halfheartedly. “I thought it might make you happy.”

If he hadn’t been so fucking hungry, Draco would’ve dropped the plates and fucked Harry right there. He took an extra few moments to lay the plates on the coffee table. 

“You.” Draco said as he strode to Harry, who looked unsure. Draco buried his face in Harry’s neck. “You are—” What word would cover it? _Amazing? Incredible? Perfect?_ “—a gift.”

Harry lifted Draco’s chin and kissed him gently, as if he’d understood all the emotions behind Draco’s word. “Well, you can unwrap me later.”

Draco groaned at the dreadful pun that broke the mood, as he assumed it was supposed to. “Potter, you should be ashamed.” He pulled Harry to the couch, and once Harry had the first bite in his mouth, Draco added, “And I do plan on unwrapping you later.”

Harry choked and coughed, trying not to spill his dinner at the same time. His face was flushed, which Draco hoped was from desire and not the coughing fit. 

~*~

“I suppose we should speak with Mother,” Draco sighed, rinsing their dinner plates. “Are we sure it’s her? And not the ley lines? We have books in the Library about the Celts and the magic they wove into the land.”

Harry pushed his glasses on top of his head and pressed at his eyes. “I don’t know, but why would the ley lines fuck with things now. They’ve been there for thousands of years. And why just there.”

Draco dropped his shoulders in defeat. “I know you’re right. Let’s go find her.”

Harry took Draco’s hand. “I can’t make it better, but I can be with you.”

Draco kissed the back of Harry’s hand. “Thank you,” he said, and it didn’t feel like enough, but it was all he had. 

They wound their way to Narcissa’s sitting room. Draco peeked in; Mother sat in her favorite chair in front of the fireplace. Her feet were tucked under her blanket, and she was intent on the book she was reading. She seemed happier and more at peace than she had all week, as if she were drawing strength from the warmth of the room.

“Mother? May we come in?”

She closed the book carefully, and when they sat across from her, Draco realized he’d been wrong; she looked tired and frail, her shoulders slumped. His eyes must have been playing tricks. 

“We’ve found out something interesting about your garden,” Draco began, but Harry cut him off.

“Draco, could I talk to your mum? Alone?” Harry asked, then walked to the fireplace, his back to Draco and Narcissa, as if he were warming his hands.

Narcissa nodded, and to Draco, she seemed even smaller. How had his intimidating mother become this?

Draco stepped out of the room, but was Slytherin enough to cast a charm so he could listen.

“Mrs. Malfoy,” Harry said, sitting in front of her on a footstool. “Can I tell you something about me?”

Draco assumed she’d nodded, because Harry began speaking. He told Narcissa about growing up with the Dursleys, how he’d felt worthless as a person until he went to Hogwarts. “Not because I was famous, ‘cus that didn’t matter. But for the first time in my life, I felt like I belonged someplace. Like I was loved. Like I was worth being loved.”

Draco stepped away from the sitting room and moved as far as he could where Harry would be able to find him. He hadn’t known that about Potter and his relatives. Growing up, Draco’d heard tales of Potter the Hero, the Saviour. His father had always sneered at the stories, but Draco had listened, and as a child, he couldn’t imagine what living the charmed life as the Saviour of the Wizarding World would be like. 

Everything he’d ever assumed had been wrong. 

He laid the new information over what he knew of Potter at Hogwarts. Over what he’d experienced this week. Draco couldn’t imagine growing up unwanted. Unloved. And still becoming the man whom Draco was beginning to love. 

“Ready?”

Harry’s voice pulled Draco from his thoughts, and when Draco stood, he didn’t know what to say. Instead, he led Harry through the Manor’s hallways back to his flat.

“Did you hear any of that?” Harry asked as they walked. His voice was heavy and rich, like it had been Monday night in his bed.

Draco considered lying. He laced his fingers with Harry’s. “Just at the start. I’m sorry.” He felt embarrassed, liked he’d broken a promise. “Sorry I eavesdropped, not sorry for your life. I mean, I am sorry for that, too. I had no idea—”

Harry opened the door to the flat, and when they were inside, he pressed Draco against the door. “You’re so—Christ, the way you love. You give all of yourself to people you love.”

Harry slid his finger under the neck of Draco’s shirt and pulled it away; Draco shuddered as Harry’s warm breath tickled behind his ear. “That’s just—” Harry kissed him gently. “So fucking hot.” They were chest to chest, and Harry pushed his leg between Draco’s, moaning when he felt Draco’s hard cock pushing against the fabric of his jeans.

“I thought if I told your mum what I’d been through, that a Mind Healer helped me, maybe she’d go.” Harry teased Draco, brushing his lips across the sensitive skin but not stopping to actually kiss him. 

“What did she say?” Draco was too breathless to speak clearly, too hot to even care. 

“I gave her the name. She has an appointment tomorrow.” Harry vanished Draco’s shirt and jumper and scraped his nail over Draco’s hard nipple. “No more about her.”

All Draco could do was nod.

“When you saw the tree,” Harry whispered as he kissed Draco’s neck, “When you looked at me like I was special—I wanted you to fuck me right there.”

Draco mewled, and Harry nipped, leaving a mark on Draco’s shoulder. “You _are_ more than special.”

“Show me,” Harry breathed and led Draco to the lounge and the Christmas tree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ley Lines: Ley lines are hypothetical alignments of a number of places of geographical interest, such as ancient monuments and megaliths. [LeyLines](http://www.ancient-wisdom.com/leylines.htm)


	19. In Love, Alive, and Whole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco accompanies Mother to her first therapy appointment, and what a surprise that is.
> 
> Today's prompt: 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you listen to I'm Sorry, I Haven't a Clue; The News Quiz; Breaking the News; or Souvenir Programme on BBC Radio 4/4e and Radio Scotland, you might recognize the law firm.

The solicitors’ office of Dee, Jupp, Clarke, and Finnemore, located in the heart of Diagon Alley, in a rare display of seasonal kindness, gave their associate solicitors December 21st and 22nd off—provided they worked from home and billed those hours. 

Draco rolled out of bed and kissed Harry goodbye. Harry barely stirred. 

_I could get very used to this,_ Draco thought as he left his bedroom. But if he stayed this morning, he’d get no work done, which would definitely affect his trajectory at DJCF. Best get the day started.

When he slid into his chair at the breakfast table, Narcissa was already seated. She’d finished her oatmeal and was sipping her coffee and watching him. “Good morning, love.”

She sounded happier. Younger, somehow. Mother as he remembered her. “You’re up early this morning,” Draco said, pouring a generous amount of coffee into his mug. 

“I—” she hesitated, then with a deep breath seemed to have decided to continue. “I have an appointment this morning in Diagon Alley.”

Draco had no idea how to respond. He probably wasn’t supposed to know what the appointment was, but he wanted to be supportive. _This ‘being an adult’ sucks,_ he thought. He decided on a non-committal, “Really?”

“Mr. Potter told me about someone he saw after the War. He thought I might benefit from having someone to speak with.” Narcissa sounded almost defiant.

He didn’t know what to say. “Good, you need it!” sounded really wrong. “It’s about time” wasn’t any better, let alone, “Well, your life _has_ sucked.”

Draco decided on, “Are you looking forward to it?” He set his coffee mug on the table to give her his full attention. 

Mother smiled with what Draco thought was relief. Had she been worried he’d be angry or disagree? 

She began to tell Draco some of what had been weighing on her. The loss of Father. The house falling into disrepair. “You. Being alone. Working too hard.”

“Please don’t worry, Mum.” Draco came around the table to hold her hand. “I’m fine.” He didn’t want to tell her about Harry yet. It was early days, and he wanted to keep _them_ to himself for a little longer. “Would you like me to come with you? Not into the appointment,” Draco hurried to clarify. “Just to the office.”

“You called me Mum,” Narcissa said, dabbing at the corner of her eye. “You haven’t called me that in years.”  
~*~ 

Narcissa thought it would be quite nice for her son to accompany her, and Draco threw some charms at yesterday’s suit and dressed as quickly as possible. Harry was already gone—back home, Draco assumed. 

He and Mother Floo’d to the **Leaky Cauldron** and walked the few blocks to the Healer’s office. The cold air felt good, helped Draco clear his mind.

“ _A New Day,_ ” Draco said, reading the sign. “This is it, then.”

Mother hesitated at the steps. 

“Are you sure you want to go?” Draco asked holding her hand, warm in the soft woolen glove.

She nodded, her mouth set. “If I don’t go now, when will I go, Draco?”

Draco’s felt lost to help her. He couldn’t do anything besides support her right here and right now. And even though he was proud for her, he just wanted to hold onto his Mum and not let her go.

Instead, he smiled and said, “After you, madam,” as he pointed up the stairs.

The waiting room was cozy, with too many overstuffed chairs and blankets to ward off the cold outside air. The room was too warm for Draco, but Mother seemed nervous but happy. 

At exactly 9 am, the therapist’s office door opened.

“You!” Draco said, pointing. 

“You?” Margaret Nibley, Mind Healer/Therapist, pointed back. 

“Draco, your manners!” Narcissa hissed, pulling Draco’s arm down. “How do you know her?”

“She’s a friend of Potter’s. She’s mean,” Draco’s voice tailed off. He sounded ridiculous, like a school tattletale. 

Midge introduced herself to Narcissa. “I’m Margaret Nibley, but you can call me Midge.”

Draco squawked. She’d told _him_ to call her Margaret.

Midge laughed, a warm deep sound that made Draco smile. “Your son and I met at Harry’s shop. Yes, I was Harry’s therapist for a bit, but because of confidentiality, I can’t say more. Just as I can’t say more about you.” 

Midge offered Narcissa a hand to help her out of the cushy chair. “And yes, I can be direct, not ‘mean.’ But really. If a therapist is going to agree with everything you say, why are you seeing him or her?”

Narcissa disappeared into Midge’s office. Midge waited a moment for Narcissa to be seated, then she stepped back into the waiting room, closing the office door behind her. 

“She’ll be alright, Draco. I promise.” It was the nicest Midge had ever been to him. 

She closed the door to her office before Draco could respond. With 45 minutes to wait, he knew exactly what to do. 

~*~

Draco slammed open the door to **Lily’s Garden** , but before he could shot _Potter!_ his internal editor kicked in. The shop was packed with shoppers looking for the perfect gift plant or a Poinsettia to brighten their homes. 

Draco stood to the side of the front door and watched. Harry seemed to be everywhere at the same time. Behind the register, giving a discount. Helping choose between Creeping Ground Ivy and Pachysandra. Talking about this one’s grandchildren or that one’s lumbago. 

Draco had come into the store ready to rip Harry apart for lying to him, for not telling him who Midge was. This was—

Harry had a spare second, and Draco strode over to him. There, in front of all the customers (who, to be fair, were to busy shopping to pay attention), cradled Harry’s face in his hands and kissed him.

“Uh—” Harry said when Draco stepped back. Harry looked dazed and starry, and Draco quite liked that.

“Your shop is a madhouse,” Draco said, taking Harry’s hands in his. “You closed three days to help me. You lost all of this—” He waved his hand around the store. “And you didn’t even know me.”

A woman with a frog perched on her shoulder tapped Harry’s arm. “Can you help me?” she asked, pointing to her frog. “Herbert needs more insects in his diet. His doctor is very worried about him.”

That sounded absurd to Draco, but Harry led the woman to the sunflowers, teetering in the back corner of the shop. Draco would have laughed in the woman’s face, assumed she was joking. But Harry was so respectful and kind.

“Come to mine tonight?” Draco whispered when Harry eventually returned to the counter. 

Harry nodded, his cheeks pink, and Draco walked out of **Lily’s Garden** toward Midge’s office. He had a bottle of champagne he’d been saving. Tonight seemed like the perfect occasion.

He’d missed the pop-up marketplace on his way to Harry; he’d been too focused on his anger to see the wooden carts with their tall wheels and colorful wares. He had a bit of time; he could afford to browse for some gifts. 

A busker stood in front of Fortescue’s, her guitar case open for donations. She finished her traditional Wizard carol to polite applause and began a song Draco didn’t recognize. 

_Haul out the holly,  
Put up the tree before my spirit falls again._

Draco liked the quick melody that sounded upbeat and happy. But as she sang,

_For we need a little Christmas_  
Right this very minute,  
Candles in the window,  
Carols at the spinet…  
Yes, we need a little Christmas now. 

He realized he wasn’t alone in his feelings. Sometimes your family sucks. Sometimes your life just sucks. But you keep on trying, even when it’s hard to get off the couch and cook a fry up. And sometimes, good things happen that you have to celebrate: a therapist to hopefully help Mother. A plant that will produce more insects for someone you love. 

A boyfriend. 

Draco smiled and tossed all the Galleons in his pocket into the guitar case. 

_And we need a little snappy_  
"Happy ever after,"  
Need a little Christmas now. 

She winked a _thank you_ as she sang, and Draco walked away whistling the tune. He checked Father’s pocket watch that he’d inherited; he had 15 minutes. Maybe he’d get lucky and find the perfect gift for Harry in the pop-up he’d seen. _Naughty or Nice_ sounded promising.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Midge being Harry’s friend is acceptable-ish. Lol. More in ch 20
> 
> The song she sings is, of course, [We Need A Little Christmas](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lb9OVjlEZho) from the Broadway musical Mame.


	20. A Man I Hardly Knew...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco is very thankful for all Harry has done. And he shows Harry in great detail. NSFW chapter.
> 
> Brought to you by: 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW chapter. Explicit. 
> 
> Apologies for not ending by 12/25. sick kids. holidays.

He’d locked himself in his flat all day, billable hours and all that. Maybe one day, he’d be well-off enough to be his own boss. To afford rent somewhere like Diagon Alley, but then, once he added utilities and an owl, and—

Draco added more basil to the spaghetti sauce and tasted it again. 

Better. 

Cooking was fun and easy. He wasn’t great at it, but he hadn’t poisoned anyone yet. And unlike senior partners and clients, meals didn’t talk back.

The stasis charm on the other pot allowed the water to remain boiling without losing any to evaporation. Once Harry arrived, Draco would break the angel hair pasta in half and drop it into the water, and dinner would be ready in five minutes. 

The Floo roared to life. “Anybody home?” 

Draco scrambled to take off the stained apron. “In here.” 

“It smells amazing.” Harry grabbed Draco around the waist. “God, _you_ smell incredible. Is that new cologne?”

Draco laugh; Harry’s beard tickled his neck when Harry kissed him. “Yes. It’s Eau De Spaghetti. I hope you’re hungry.” 

While Draco finished cooking the pasta, Harry filled him in on the day’s best customers. “A man who reads the _Quibbler_ regularly wanted a plant to keep away the Nargles, since he insisted he had to have Mistletoe hanging in every room of his house. The woman who wanted something different for her Mum, who had every plant known to man. Turns out, her Mum did have every plant I suggested.”

Draco opened a bottle of wine and brought it to the dining table along with the bowl of spaghetti. “Eat. You must be hungry.” 

Draco lit the candles. The fairy lights from the tree and the candle flames would help set the mood.

Harry filled his plate, but Draco only took a small portion. He wasn’t interested in dinner. 

He wanted to watch Harry. That curl in his fringe that wouldn’t stay gelled back. The shadow of his cheekbones as he spoke. His full lips, redder with the sauce. His tongue as he swiped the sauce off. 

Draco wanted to wait until after they’d eaten to lead Harry to his bed. He wanted to see Harry naked in the candle light, sprawled out on his bed, sweaty and exhausted, his feet tangled in the sheets they’d kicked off. 

Draco took a drink of wine, then another. 

“What were you going on about this morning?” Harry asked, laying his fork over his empty plate. “Not that I didn’t like the kisses.”

“Midge!” Oh Merlin, Draco had forgotten that he’d been angry with Potter. “You didn’t tell me you were recommending that gremlin to my mother. She’s—”

“Draco,” Harry shook his head and laughed. “I wrote it on the paper the other day. When I told you maybe your mum would like my therapist. Didn’t you look at it?”

That damn piece of paper was still in the pocket of the jeans Harry had loaned him. He’d never looked.

Draco mumbled something about _busy_ and _work hard, unlike some other people_ and blushed. He scraped his chair back and picked up the dishes to rinse off. 

“Don’t be angry with me,” Harry said, coming up behind Draco. He hemmed Draco in, placing his hands on the sink on either side of Draco. “I did mean to tell you. Honestly.”

He pressed his lips to the back of Draco’s neck. “She was my therapist right after—y’know. The war. She helped me get that I didn’t _have_ to do what I didn’t want to. Everyone wanted me to be an Auror, but I wanted to travel and make things grow—not kill things.”

Harry hadn’t left much room for Draco to turn; when Draco did, he was pressed against Harry. “I wasn’t angry. Not really. And you really have no reason to tell me about your past—”

“Ask anything,” Harry said, brushing his nose against Draco’s. “I’m all yours.”

Draco held his breath for a moment. A week. They’d worked together less than a week, and here they were. Harry was all his. Mother was seeing a therapist. He felt lighter, happier, more hopeful than he had in over a year.

What kind of Magic was this?

Draco kissed Harry, and it was slow and filthy, hoping to tell Harry how much he wanted him from just this. The way their bodies burned each place they touched. He knew Harry must know he was hard; he felt Harry’s cock, thick and hard, pressing against his thigh. 

“Anything?” Draco barely moved from Harry’s mouth to speak; he hovered near Harry’s lips, not wanting to stop kissing. When Harry nodded, Draco said, “Take me to bed.”

Harry entwined their fingers and led Draco to the bedroom. Draco stopped him along the short distance, to touch Harry’s jaw, to nip his ear, until he couldn’t wait any longer. 

Harry stood awkwardly near the bed and began to unbutton his jeans. “That’s my job,” Draco said, his voice deeper than he recognized. 

“Then I’ll do you,” Harry said, pointing toward Draco’s button-down. 

“Oh, that’s what I’m hoping.” 

Harry flushed at Draco’s words, and after only a week, Draco recognized what Harry’s desire looked like. This was need, want. Not embarrassment. 

Draco kissed Harry, tasted the garlic and wine from dinner, and it was wonderful. He slipped the t-shirt over Harry’s head and pressed his lips down Harry’s sternum, over the sparse hair to the nipple that Draco assumed wanted to be tasted.

Draco was wrong.

Harry giggled, laughed, squawked. “Stop! That tickles!” He pushed Draco away. “Ohmygod, that tickles so much! You can’t.”

Draco hrumpfed, but Harry kissed him to break the pout. “Kissing my chest felt good though…” Harry said, twisting a finger through Draco’s hair. 

“What about this?” Draco knelt in front of Harry, loved when Harry gasped when he realized Draco’s intention. As he unzipped the jeans, Draco asked, “Will this tickle?”

He pushed Harry’s jeans over ass and down his thighs, muscular from work. “I can’t decide if I want you to take these off or leave them around your ankles, like a binding.”

Harry’s breath shuddered, and he grabbed Draco’s hair, tugging slightly. 

“Oh, so that’s a kink for you, then,” Draco said as he pulled Harry’s shoes off and dragged the jeans over the feet and out. “I’ll remember that for next time.” _Next time._ Next time maybe Harry could tug his hair again…

Tired of teasing, Draco stripped off Harry’s pants and kissed his hips, sucked a bruise where the right hip joined Harry’s leg. Licked his way across Harry’s flat belly, finally taking Harry’s cock into his mouth. It was heavy on his tongue, thick and bumping against the inside each time Draco’s mouth met his hand. 

Draco turned his head just enough that he could look up at Harry without taking his mouth away. Harry looked beautiful, a Pre-Raphaelite hero, his hair loose and a bit too long. He felt Harry shake, straining to stand still and not fuck Draco’s mouth. But Merlin, that would have been better than fine, too.

Harry tugged again on Draco’s hair. “Too much—it’s—I’m gonna—”

Draco nodded and felt the warmth of Harry’s come in his mouth and moaned around the cock. He didn’t know, hadn’t realized how much he wanted this. All of this with Harry. He swallowed as much as he could, until it spilled down his chin. He heard Harry’s whimper, and when Draco looked up again, Harry was watching him.

“You’re—that was so good.” Harry could barely speak. “Tell me what to do for you.”

Draco pressed down on his cock, still trapped in his trousers. “I know exactly what.”

Harry helped Draco up from the floor, which Draco suspected took all of the concentration Harry had at that moment. He kissed Draco, nipped at edge of his lip and then kissed it again to take away the sting. “Tell me.” 

Harry sounded both sated and aroused, and Draco felt his own need move from a smolder to a white-hot flare.

“Please,” Harry asked again. Draco kissed him, wanted to roll his hips against Harry’s, again and again until Harry was hard and could fuck him until he came. The thought brought Draco to the edge and he fought it back but knew it wasn’t for long. 

“Come with me.” Draco took Harry’s hand and led him to the loo. He could feel his heart beat in the throbbing of his cock against his pants. Fuck, he needed this, needed Harry. him so badly.

Draco held his hand toward the tap and the water flowed into the stoppered tub. _Accio_ Champagne,” Draco said then called for two glasses. He uncorked and poured the Champagne.

“I want to soak in the tub with you and drink this,” Draco said, handing a glass to Harry. “I want you to touch me and kiss me until I get hard again, and then I’m going to beg you to fuck me.”

Draco held up his glass and tipped it toward Harry; he watched as Harry processed his words and almost dropped his glass. 

Draco nodded slowly and stepped into the warm bath. He turned off the water and waited for Harry to join him. They had all night to drink the Champagne and learn more about each other’s bodies.


	21. ...Grew To Love Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All that was wrong is now right. 
> 
> prompt: 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you SO much for following along and for your beautiful comments.

The three days before Christmas passed in a blur of green plants, white poinsettias, black ink on yellow legal paper. When Draco wasn’t working updating clients, checking past cases for precedents, and writing up document after document, he was helping Harry with last minute shoppers. 

Draco still knew nothing about plants—except that he could now identify a Narcissus. He’d tried to work the floor, suggestive selling to customers. He’d described the display of Venus Flytraps as _“innocuous little houseplants, that are really good at eliminating pests in your home.”_

Harry had stepped in front of Draco, blocking the customer’s view of him. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Conn-Smyth. My new partner is still learning.” Harry looked over his shoulder, and Draco expected him to glare and yell at his screw up. Instead, Harry winked, and Draco kind of fell in love with the tiny lines at the corners of Harry’s eyes. 

Harry turned back to the customer and continued. “This Venus Flytrap has been cross bred with a Venomous Tentacula, and it will eliminate all pests that come too close to it, including kneazles, krups, and the occasional poorly behaved husband or wife.”

Mrs. Conn-Smyth yipped, as did the tiny krup curled up inside her bag. The two of them hurried away as quickly as Mrs. Conn-Smyth’s short legs could take them. 

“Stand here and ring up the customers on the till,” Harry said through his laughter. “It’ll be safer for everyone.”

Draco thought he maybe should feel embarrassed that he’d messed up, but he didn’t. Harry hadn’t been angry or belittled him, just added more information and moved on. 

When Harry had finally closed the nursery at 8pm on the 24th, they’d apparated upstairs to Harry’s, too exhausted to even climb the stairs. 

Draco stood in the living room looking toward the kitchen. “I think we should be hungry, but—I’m just so tired. How do you _do_ this every day?”

Harry took Draco’s hand and led him to the bedroom. He removed Draco’s clothes, careful not to catch or snag anything, and threw them in the laundry basket with his. “C’mon. Get in,” he said as he pulled down the covers. 

They lay in bed watching the tree lights wink on and off and whispered to each other about the customers and friends and holiday plans.

“Have Christmas Eve with us,” Draco asked, taking a homemade biscuit from a tin. “I mean, you probably have plans with friends, but if you don’t—”

Harry brushed away some crumbs that lingered at the corner of Draco’s mouth. “If you hadn’t asked me, I was going to just barge into the Manor…”  
Draco kissed him. He wanted to do more. So much more. But, before he could act on his thoughts, he fell asleep curled around Harry and wondering how he’d thought he hadn’t needed someone. 

~*~

“Happy Christmas, Mother!” Draco called as he stepped through the Floo at Christmas noon. “I hope you don’t mind that I invited someone—”

The room was beautiful. The curtains that had been closed since Father’s passing were thrown open, the sunlight flooding through. Evergreen garland had been draped over the mantle and decorated with silver beads and pinecones. Clear ornaments hung from filament in the windows and caught the light, sending rainbows floating through the room.

“Not at all, dear,” Mother said, coming to Draco and kissing his cheek. 

Harry came through the Floo in the middle of Draco’s conversation. 

“I hope you don’t mind?” Draco said, pulling Harry next to him. 

“Happy Christmas, Mr. Potter,” Narcissa said with a brief hug. 

“Harry,” he suggested. “Please call me Harry.”

“I hope you both don’t mind that _I_ invited someone, also,” Narcissa smiled and gestured behind her. 

In a wingback chair, with a bag of foul-smelling roasted chestnuts in her lap, sat Midge.

“Hello, Harry,” Midge said with a brilliant smile. “And—Draco.” Her voice dropped to something like disgust, but when Draco looked carefully, he saw her trying to hide a grin. 

“Ah. I thought I smelled something dying in here,” Draco parried. “And here you are, Margaret.”

Narcissa gasped but Midge chortled. “Oh, but you are a smart one, Draco Malfoy.” And she worked her way out of the chair and hugged Draco. He could barely breathe through the power of her hug.

“Midge you have one foot in the grave,” Draco squeaked out through her constrictor grip. “How do you hug like this?”

Midge just chortled again, and when she let go of Draco, he massaged his arms to restart the blood flow.

“Perhaps I owe you an explanation,” Narcissa began and offered them seats by the fireplace. She poured them tea and motioned to the plate of biscuits. “I’ve known Midge—well _of_ Midge for years. Since I met Lucius at Hogwarts. He spoke about her often, and when I first visited the Manor, I met her.”

“Luke. That’s what I called him. He _hated_ that name.” Midge looked at Draco and there was that mischief in her eyes again. “Of course, I had to call him that all of the time, then.”

Narcissa nodded. “He said Luke was a _common_ name, not an elegant, cultured name. I didn’t recognize her name when Harry gave me her contact information and truly, it wasn’t until I was in her office.”

Midge took a biscuit, then another, and a third and held them in her small hand. “Ethically, I was uncomfortable about working with your mother, but I offered her the option.”

Narcissa looked into her teacup as if she were trying to gather her courage to speak. “Midge and I spent the time laughing and talking about Lucius, and I decided I would rather that we were friends. She’s given me the name of another therapist.” She looked at Draco and said, “I have an appointment after the new year.”

Draco watched his mother, the tension in her fingers are she gripped the cup and saucer and the way her eyes slid away from him as if she were hesitant or nervous. “I think that’s brilliant, Mother,” Draco said, keeping his voice warm and supportive. “You’ve spent too much time alone this year, and it’s good for you to have a friend, even if it’s Midge.”

This time, Narcissa threw her head back and laughed, and Draco felt he could see the tension drain from her shoulders, leaving her freer and more calm.

Narcissa dabbed at the corner of her eyes where tears had welled as she laughed. “And Harry. To what do we owe this honor.”

“I was just here to check on the garden, and, uh, Malfoy—Draco—he—” Harry stammered.

It was Draco’s turn. All of the phrases he’d practiced. All of the ways he’d imagined telling her. This wasn’t it. “Mother, Harry and I are dating.”

So simple. 

So frightening. 

Draco braced himself for what Midge or Mother might say. 

No one expected a high five.

And a _Woot!_

“What? What is—What??” Draco spluttered, as Mother sat in her chair, wincing and rubbing the palm of her hand.

“I demand to know what is going on—” Draco stood and pointed his finger at his mother, his temper ready to explode. But before he could begin his tirade, he was interrupted by a nondescript barn owl banging at the window. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Draco stalked to the window before the bird bashed it in. 

He untied the letter and read it, as the owl flew around the sitting room waiting for a reply. “It’s from the law firm. They’re—” He couldn’t believe what he was reading. “They’re—it’s an official reprimand for my _unsatisfactory work production_ this week.”

How was this possible? He’d billed over sixty hours this week, including his two off days. He’d negotiated several deals to keep clients out of court. It was fucking Christmas. He’d done everything he could, and it wasn’t enough. 

Harry jumped up and took the letter from Draco. He scanned it and said, “This is bullshit.” Harry lowered the letter. “You work hard all the time, and it doesn’t matter to them.”

Draco nodded but never really lifted his chin from his chest. “What choice do I have?”

Harry shook the letter and yelled. “I’ll tell you what choice. Write them back and tell them to kiss your ass. Then use the extra room in **Lily’s Garden** and open your own office.”

“It’s what you’ve always wanted,” Narcissa said, walking to Draco. She cradled his face in her hands and lifted his chin so she could look into his eyes. “Don’t be afraid to take this step.”

“We work good together,” Harry said. “It won’t take any time to renovate the building so it’s your space. Or y’know. If you want, you can look for your own space.”

Draco breathed out sounding defeated, but when he looked up again, his spirit was back. “Yeah. That would be—yeah.”

“You two do work together well,” Narcissa said, opening the window and nudging the owl out. “Goodness. Look! My garden!”

Midge cleared her throat. Loudly. Narcissa remained at the window, ignoring Midge.

“Merlin, it’s back.” Draco couldn’t believe what he saw. 

Her garden was a riot of color.

The poinsettias. The amaryllis. The creeping phlox and the hyacinths. 

All as beautiful as if they were a photograph in _The Prophet._

“Mother, therapy was amazing—” Draco whirled around and hugged Mother. She must have made some headway with her depression.

“Yes. It was,” Midge said, her voice pushing Narcissa. “Wasn’t it?” 

“Draco. Harry. Have a seat.” Mother returned to her seat and held her hands out to the warmth of the fireplace. When Harry and Draco sat, Narcissa folded her hands primly on her lap and began speaking. “Your father and I were married for 30 years. We weren’t always happy, but I loved him. And I miss him every day.”

None of this made any sense to Draco. This had nothing to do with the dead garden.

“You work so hard, Draco,” Narcissa looked to Midge, who smiled and nodded. “And when you’re not working, you’re with me.” Narcissa held Draco’s hand. “I’m so thankful for you, but—you need to be with someone you can love.”

Draco shook his head. “What are you talking about, Mother?” She’d gone absolutely around the bend.

The narcissus Harry had given her the week before sat on the coffee table, its white blossoms full of life. With a wave of Narcissa’s wand, it was dead. Completely dead.

“How’d you—” Harry picked up the plant in the pot. The leaves were dry and grey. The soil was cracked, as if it hadn’t had water in weeks. “How’d you do that?”

“It’s a spell I learned as a child to kill weeds in my Father’s garden. I also learned to reverse it.” Narcissa flicked her wand, and the plant was once again vibrant and alive. “A white fox would sometimes visit me, and he was always alone. Hesitant. Afraid. One day, a black fox trailed after him and kept nudging him until they played together. 

“They chased each other and ran around my garden as I worked, and finally they curled up together and fell asleep. They reminded me of you and Harry, Draco. 

“I know you have a good life, and you were happy alone. But I just thought, as mothers do, that you would be happier with someone.” Narcissa sat back in her chair. 

“You killed your garden to set us up?” Draco asked, his voice an octave higher in disbelief.

“I didn’t kill it, dear.”

“You had a panic attack outside that day.” Draco could not believe what she was saying. She’d arranged this. All of this. Tricked him into dating Potter. 

Narcissa sighed. “I did. I miss your father every day, Draco. Every day. That afternoon, it was just too much. And I knew you were right about a mind healer. When I went to see Midge, I told her what I’d done with the garden. We discussed the situation, and I knew I had to be honest with you.”

“You killed your garden to set us up?” Draco said again. 

“I didn’t kill it dear,” Narcissa corrected him again. 

Harry placed his hand on Draco’s wrist. “We saw the magic in the soil. It just never occurred to us that it was from your mother.” 

“She—” 

“Yeah, she did,” Harry said with a smile. “Your mum killed her garden because she figured you’d come to me to help. And you would find me irresistible, and we’d fall in love.” 

Draco snorted in disbelief. “She has no idea what I find attractive in—Mother!” He turned to her, his mouth open. “I never even told you I’m gay.”

“Yes, dear.” Narcissa poured tea. “Such a secret. Potter this. Potter that. I’m a mother dear, not stupid.”

Draco covered his face with his hands. “It was you all along.”

“Please do keep up.” Midge threw a cold chestnut at Draco. “And will you be opening your office at **Lily’s Garden**?”

Draco looked at Harry, who was grinning and nodding. 

There were immutable truths in the universe. The sun would rise in the east and set in the west. Draco Malfoy loved his mother. And he would do anything to make Harry smile like that. Always.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're familiar with the musical "The Secret Garden," You'll recognize some of the lyrics. If you're not familiar, [watch this snippet](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QlWOCwHU2fI) and enjoy.


End file.
